Surviving Paradise
by DearLordOrLady
Summary: Clarice hasn't seen Hannibal in six years. She hears he's been captured in Australia and rushes to make arrangements to transport him personally back to Baltimore- however their flight is interrupted as the plane crashes and she is left to deal with surviving on a subtropical island…with Hannibal Lecter…and maybe a few survivors. Rated M for gritty adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

Clarice Starling hadn't seen him in six years. She wondered vaguely if he would recognize her; ever since her graduation and Jack Crawford's retirement, everything had changed.

She remembered a time where peers and mentors had called her "Sterling". It used to infuriate her, even disappoint her how invisible she was- no matter how hard she worked she had still corrected those who couldn't be bothered to learn her name. Those days were gone. Her confidence had grown as well as her knowledge- as so had her renown.

She was a major player in the FBI hunting serial killers on the East Coast. She felt very settled in Virginia, and even bought an apartment close to the academy. They sometimes asked her speak about Buffalo Bill, even occasionally asking her to speak about Doctor Hannibal Lecter. She often obliged the former, but never the latter. Speaking about Hannibal Lecter to a group of trainees almost felt like sacrilege, an unspoken fear of hers was the idea it would somehow get back to Lecter and he would be offended by it.

She hadn't heard a peep about him, that was, until some hot-shot in Australia captured him and all the newspapers went wild. No one seemed to have any details though, no explanations were offered, this vexed tabloids and major newspapers terribly. Clarice suspected- like them- there was a sinister, twisted story to be told.

She fought like hell to make arrangements to pick him up. It had taken over ten hours on the phone, but they finally gave her clearance to assist in his departure.

Her plane ticket was clutched tightly in her hand, she had this irrational fear that it would slip through her fingers and she'd lose it- like the world had lost him.

"Flight 31-A. Now boarding." Rang the speaker overhead. She had priority seating, right after those with disabilities. She took a deep breath before getting on the plane.

It was a really long flight, but she couldn't rest. Instead, she listened to tapes on her player just heard his voice, her gut twisting as he delivered insights, insults, and toyed with her emotions. The day slipped by as she ran through preparing herself mentally for whatever assault he might make on her psyche. She exchanged multiple conversations they might had when they met again….if he was kind, if he was cruel, if he lavished attention or requested information, what she would say if he ignored her. It was a bit sick, really. She recognized it as nervous obsession, but when dealing with Hannibal Lecter not being prepared could be fatal.

She didn't realize she had fell asleep until a flight attendant roused her. A woman with tired eyes was lightly touching her shoulder.

"We'll be landing shortly. Please buckle your seatbelt." She said when Clarice removed her headset.

Clarice had skipped most the meals on the plane, she now regretted that as her stomach ached terribly. It felt a million times worse when the plane began to land. That spinning feeling in her stomach, the pressure of the world pushing on her, it was all familiar but through an entirely different way- she was going to see _him_ again. She had gotten better at managing her fear, pushing out her panic and keeping her calm, but it wasn't helping much as images of Hannibal Lecter flashed through her memory.

She felt dizzy when she got off the plane. Before she picked up her bags, she bought a bottle of water and drank it all in one sitting. A few teenage boys were staring at her, smiling as she wiped sweat from her face. My god, she was _sweating_. She really did need to sit down and relax, pull herself together. This sort of mild hysteria wouldn't do.

She sat down in a waiting area, closing her eyes and settling herself. She felt much better after a few minutes of controlled breathing. She was to take a taxi cab to a hotel just outside the airport, in the morning she'd be briefed and then she'd jump on another plane, only this time she was to assist Doctor Lecter back to Baltimore.

She slept as well at the hotel as she had on the plane, her night was fevered and dominated by a pair of piercing eyes belonging to a ghost from her past. She woke up three times, and on the third she couldn't get back to sleep. She watched the clock with frustration, it's numbers turning slower than possible. At 6am she was completely dressed. She looked at herself in the mirror.

She looked calm. In control. Yes, this was the Clarice Starling she wanted Hannibal Lecter to see. She hoped to God she would keep it together. She slipped her gun securely in her shoulder-holster, feeling more confident then she had when she first left Baltimore. She reminded herself she was no longer Clarice Starling the trainee, no matter how much a laymen he might make her feel.

She allowed herself a decent breakfast of fruit and toast before hailing a taxi to depart to the privately assigned airfield. Australia wasn't interesting to her, not when Hannibal Lecter was the object of comparison. She felt she could have mourned the brevity of trip had this been any other assignment.

"Sterling." Said a deep voice labored with a heavy accent. She saw it belonged to a middle aged man with a dark tan.

"Actually sir, it's Starling." She corrected him politely as he shook her hand.

"My apologies. I'm Alex Glenn, from the ASIS. Let me accompany you." He said leading her to a clearing. Clarice saw a bunch of vehicles flashing their lights and a small plane being fueled.

"We're loading him onto the craft as we speak. We had a bit of an early start, you see, although he's been mostly compliant he hasn't been the easiest criminal to transport." Grimaldi admitted darkly. "Honestly, we're glad to be rid of him. He's made three of my colleagues cry- I believe he's making sport of us."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Clarice said sincerely.

"I've contacted the American Embassy, they've assured me that I will be rewarded for the capture of Hannibal Lecter." He said halting in his footsteps. His eyes flashed with greed and anxiety. "Am I to trust the American FBI will honor their agreement?" He asked, his tone becoming cooler.

"I'm not really the person to ask." Clarice replied calmly. "But I'll pass your concerns along."

She scrutinized Alex, wondering how exactly he had learned the whereabouts of Lecter and managed to detain him. He must have been exceedingly intelligent.

Alex nodded and walked her past various security guards. Everyone seemed to be busy and in deep conversation, too busy to notice her. She was greeted by the copilot and an officer as she took to the stairs into the plane.

"Your credentials please?" He asked, stopping her from getting on the plane. She flashed him her badge and id. "Thank you. He's in the back, don't touch him or hand anything to him. We'll be taking off in a half hour."

She nodded.

Now was it.

The plane was cramped, but she was smaller than most so she was more comfortable than the few officers scattered in seats throughout the plane. She breathed deeply through her nose as she slowly made her way to the back, careful not to trip.

Hannibal Lecter was secured to the wall of the plane, something like an oversized hand-truck staying him in place while heavy canvas wrapped around him. She was certain there was a fair amount of cuffs underneath the canvas, as well as a straight-jacket. He was wearing his signature hockey-mask. They must have got the memo he was a biter.

Her stomach clenched into a knot as she saw his eyes open wider. She knew he smelled her- with cold precision, his gaze shifted toward her. The guards chatting lazily about their drunken night sounded like gibberish to her ears, all she could concentrate on was his piercing eyes, so intelligent and intense.

"Well hello Clarice." He said, the mask not obscuring his familiar tone.

She gripped the chair to keep her hands from shaking and sat down across the isle.

"Hello Doctor Lecter." she replied evenly, pleased that her voice didn't wavier. It did, however, go up a in a slight pitch. She noticed this: she knew he noticed this as well.

"My, you're looking good these days." He said in a devilish sprawl. She noticed his hair was flecked with gray in some areas, but he largely looked the same. "Although, forgive me for being blunt, but your taste in shoes hasn't improved much. If I had known you were in town we could have made a day of it."

"I've only arrived last night." Clarice said, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. She refused to give him the satisfaction of getting her goat and purposely left her shoes in full view.

"You came all this way to keep me company? Clarice, _I'm touched_." He said, his eyes crinkled with mirth but she notice he never closed them. She hadn't really noticed that before. "Thank goodness you're here, I was beginning to fear this trip would be as monotonous as Bocrie's wit."

The guard stopped in the middle of his story and shot Hannibal a withering glance that he didn't seem to acknowledge or mind.

"The view is also much more pleasant." He added sensually.

"What were you doing in Australia, Doctor?" Clarice asked, trying to make it a point to ignore his flirtation.

"Oh, a little this, a little that." He replied mischievously. His eyes widened. "I would much rather talk about you, Clarice." He purred.

"Jesus lady, we can't get him to shut up for nothing." Bocrie fumed. "You get on the plane and he turns into chatty-McGee times two."

"As you can see, 'monotonous' is a generous word for it." Hannibal mocked.

"Gentlemen you can move to the front of the plane if we're disturbing you." Clarice insisted sternly as Bocrie tensed up.

Hannibal smirked as the the two guards moved a few seats toward the middle.

"What's so amusing?" Clarice asked.

"You used your grown-up voice." He said. "You've blossomed into quite the woman. I bet all the boys are nipping at your heels, fighting to get the juiciest piece of Special. Agent. Clarice. Starling. Have they?" He asked shamelessly, his rasping voice rising with excitement. "Have you acquired a husband? 2.5 kids?"

"No." She replied simply.

"Hm, that never was your dream, was it?" He said looking oddly pleased. "You had higher ambitions than burning dinner and wiping asses."

She tried not to seemed taken aback by his crass comment.

"What's your dream Doctor?" She asked him.

"One need only to be awake in this moment." He replied, unabashed.

"You could have caught a plane to Baltimore State Forensic Hospital anytime." Clarice replied.

"Don't be coy," he said softly. "your undivided attention is one of my deepest hedonistic pleasures."

His overt advances couldn't be ignored. She looked away, a blush creeping up her face. She was saved by the pilots voice over the intercom announcing their departure in a couple of minutes. She noticed that men with shot guns and several people in suits had found their seats, all assuming she had Lecter handled.

She wasn't sure who was handling who.

* * *

All the tension had worn Clarice out, she had fell asleep quickly after take-off, not sure she could go another round with Hannibal until she was properly rested. He had remained courteously silent, unlike the other passengers.

She shifted in her chair, trying to get the kink out of her neck. A bump of turbulence nudged her.

"Clarice…" It was a hushed whisper.

She took a deep breath in, her eyes still closed as she slowly came to consciousness.

"Clarice…" She heard Hannibal call, only this time with much more conviction.

"Clarice!"

She opened her eyes, the shaking of the plane much more pronounced. As she scanned the seats she saw everyone sitting- some reading, most sleeping, and a few watching a terrible movie. She turned her head lazily, contemplating how to scold Lecter for waking her up.

Except her reprimand died in her throat. He was looking at her- with purpose- with a sense of urgency.

"Clarice, I want you to listen to me." He said firmly, his eyes wide. "There is an emergency exit window one seat in front of me on my left. Go to that seat and put your seatbelt on. "

"Dotcor-"

"NOW." He roared, his eyes flashing with fury.

A few heads turned to look at him, looking quite irritated. The shaking was becoming more pronounced and headphones began to pop off of their heads.

She got up and ran to seat he specified.

"What's going on Doctor?" Clarice asked over her shoulder.

"Make sure your seatbelt is resting low on your pelvis and not on your stomach." He barked. "No- don't look out the window." He scolded her.

"Why?" Clarice choked, fear gripping her.

"I need you to be calm." He replied. "When the oxygen mask comes down, put it on. Then, put your head between your legs, grab your knees, and plant your feet as far back as you can."

She wondered for a moment if he was playing some cruel joke on her- and then she heard it- a distinct bending-of-metal sound. The lights began to flicker.

There was no explanation, no message from the pilot, only the terrible wrenching of metal scraping metal, and then- emergency lights turned on and the shaking got rougher. Clarice heard the gasps of shock and anger as the oxygen masks burst from the top of the seats. She put hers on, recalling all the steps Hannibal had told her in her mind.

"Oh my God- the plane is going down!" She heard someone scream. Clarice figured that person much have looked out the window.

She heard the engines roaring, and felt the plane lurch violently. The rush of air over the plane caused a roar and whistling, and he felt pressure push on her.

People were screaming. Men were screaming. She felt dizzy, even though the oxygen mask was providing air she felt like she couldn't get a proper breath.

"Clarice!" she heard Hannibal shouting her name, but she couldn't hear much else.

It was the lambs. The lambs were screaming.

* * *

The oxygen mask was useless.

She took a breath. And then another. She opened her eyes, she was laying on her back on the ground, her feet propped up on a rock. She felt thirsty and damp, shaky and clammy.

"Where's the plane?" She gasped. "Where's the plane?" She asked again. "The lambs-?" She recalled their screams.

"Clarice you're slipping into shock." Came a level, firm voice. "The plane is gone and you're safe. Your lambs are safe as well."

"Doctor Lecter- where is the plane?" She gasped.

"It's gone." He replied.

"What- where is the plane?" She asked again. She had heard him answer, but for some reason she found she couldn't stop asking the question.

"The plane is gone, Clarice. You're safe."

"Where is the plane?" She gasped again. She wished she could stop asking.

"The plane is gone." She heard him say. There was no indication of annoyance in his tone. Only simple fact. "The plane is gone, Clarice. You are laying down on the ground. You're unhurt."

She was breathing hard now. Her hand flew to her mouth, searching for the oxygen mask that wasn't there. She thought of the hockey mask that covered Lecter's mouth.

"Don't move, just relax." She heard Hannibal Lecter's voice soothe her. "You did well. You did very well, and you're doing very well right now. You're safe. You're unhurt."

"What about you?" She gasped.

"Me? How thoughtful of you to ask. A few scrapes and bumps, but nothing serious." He replied. "I was more…secure…than most."

She was beginning to shake less, but felt drained. Her thoughts were beginning to order themselves, no longer was she living in a half-dream.

"The plane crashed." She said.

"Yes."

"Where is it?"

"Gone." He said simply. "We were thrown."

She turned her head, feeling more stable. He was laying next to her, his eyes cool and amused. His hands were folded on his stomach, his straight jacket undone and the sleeves rolled up. They were under the shade of a palm tree.

"Hello Clarice." He said with a ghost of a smile, he was not wearing the mask.

She lifted her head and saw he was laying on the sand next to her, his legs crossed leisurely.

"How did you get free?" She asked.

"Mmm." He said thoughtfully. "You seemed so happy to see me, I didn't want reveal I had shed my bonds until we landed- but our little travel mishap spoiled the surprise." He said. "Feeling better?" He asked pleasantly, flashing her a row of teeth.

"Are we alone?" She asked.

"For the moment." He said. "I didn't search for stragglers. Say- do you think we're on Anthrax Island?" He asked fiendishly.

She struggled to sit up.

"Oh my God-" Clarice gasped, getting into sitting position. "Oh my god, the plane crashed."

"Yes it did." Hannibal said. "And we survived."

"I have to find- I have to help the others-" Clarice gasped.

"Good thinking. I believe I Bocrie is playing in the waves…and behind that big rock." Hannibal said darkly.

She got up on her feet and found she was unsteady.

"I suggest you stay here with me." She heard Doctor Lecter say. "I've combed the beach, there's nothing worth saving. No lambs to gather either."

She stared at the huge bolder to her right and the ocean wondering if Bocrie really was bobbing behind it or if Hannibal was manipulating her using his terrible, dark humor. He wasn't predisposed to lying to her, not really. She felt sick and crossed her arms to find her holster empty- she had forgot about her gun.

"I have it." Hannibal said, reading her thoughts.

"I would like it back, please." She said firmly.

"To what end? Are you going to shoot me, Clarice?" He asked in a southern drawl. "No, we're _equals_ now." He said standing up. "For the sake of peace I've hid it until we can trust each other, until we can come to some sort of mutual understanding."

"And what would that be?" She asked, clenching her hands into fists as he calmly stalked towards her.

"Survival." He replied. "Your gun is no longer your most important possession. Don't waste any precious time or energy trying to find it, I need you to focus. Did you have any sort of wilderness training at the academy?"

"Of course." Clarice answered.

"What is our first priority?"

"Maintaining body temperature... avoiding hypothermia."

"Very good." He said with a smile.

"We should build a shelter." She said.

"And then?"

"Find drinking water." She said.

"Very good Clarice." He said. "I've gathered everything I could find that could be useful to us. We'll go over the inventory and construct a lean-to."

She followed him to the base of the tree line overlooking the beach. Sitting in the sand was an array of junk, neatly divided and separated on the ground.

"We're exceedingly lucky I was wrapped in canvas. I suggest using it for our roof." Hannibal said rolling up his long sleeves. "I've had to cut it up a bit to construct a solar still. I would still prefer to find a fresh spring, but we'll be okay on drinking water for the moment."

He felt they were exceedingly lucky to have canvas, Clarice was starting to feel exceedingly lucky to have him. In that moment she realized with some discomfort that she couldn't name anyone else she'd rather be deserted on a island with.

"We have one pocket knife-" he turned to her._ "-_I'll hold onto it." He added before turning back to the pile. "A suitcase, a can of shaving cream, a bag of disposable razors, a man's hair comb, two very large white cotton shirts belonging to a corpulent, diabetic man, a semi-functional set of handcuffs, and various pieces of plane shrapnel. There was also a half-melted pitcher, but it's sitting in our solar still."

Clarice wiped the sweat from her face with her sleeve. She felt sand-grit stick uncomfortably across her face.

"How far did you go to find this?" She asked.

"Not far, but I did try to hit every direction." He replied.

"After we build our lean-to we should explore."

"We will construct our lean-to first, rest, and explore tomorrow." Hannibal replied. "The solar still is a temporary solution, we'll need more water than it can provide. Especially on hot days like these."

"I want to look for survivors."

"No." He said firmly. "That would be a mistake."

"If someone's hurt can I count on you to help?" She asked.

"If you bring someone who is hurt back to our camp, I'll smash their head with a rock and butcher them." He replied calmly.

She breathed deeply through her nose, infuriated. Her anger turned to fear as his stony gaze swept over her- there was no glass or cage to keep him from her.

"The more people we have, the more work we can do." She reasoned.

"Not if you bring someone who is hurt, thirsty, and stupid." He replied.

"I won't be able to live with myself if someone dies and I did nothing." She said.

"Your chances of living are best with me." He said, his eyes flashing. "This isn't a drill, there's no Jack Crawford to impress with your noble intentions- while they are endearing they can jeopardize our survival."

"Fine- we'll build a lean-to, we'll find a stream, and then we'll search for others." She said.

"What do you think they're going to do when they see me without my bonds, Clarice?" He asked, stepping closer. "You think they're going to share a lean-to with me? Ask me to fish for them? Do you think they'll trust me with their safety?"

"...when they see how you'll help them, they'll trust you enough."

"Am I going to help them?" He asked. "No, they will either try to kill me or detain me. They will become suspicious of you and label you an outsider- maybe an enemy- for trying to convince them I am to be trusted."

She knew he was right, but she couldn't shake her guilt.

"Have I ever steered you wrong?" He asked.

"…No." She replied.

"Then let's not waste daylight." He said walking past her into the woods.

She trailed after him, searching the ground for long branches and any objects he'd hadn't found. It was heavy work to haul branches back to their camp. The sun shot through the trees and she assumed it was late noon when they had gathered enough raw materials. The land was full of palm trees and they had spent a lot of their time sawing off the fronds with their blunt little pocket knife. After numerous trips Clarice was glad to see they had gathered enough foliage to begin building.

"Are you tired?" He asked her.

"Not at all." Clarice lied. He smiled knowingly.

He guided her through the construction of their shelter. It was about three fourths done when he asked her to finish it.

"I'm going to build a fire before it gets too dark." He explained. "Can you manage without me?"

"Of course." She replied.

"Oh, of course." He repeated.

"I didn't mean it like that." She said.

She was laying palm fronds on the ground and various leaves they had collected. Her mouth felt dry and a vicious thirst was building, she hadn't asked about the solar still and wouldn't bring it up before Hannibal. She didn't want to appear weak.

He built the fire around six feet in front of the shelter, when it began to smoke and light flickered she realized how dark it had gotten in such a short amount of time. He joined her to secure the finishing touches on their lean-to. It was pretty well crafted, Clarice felt that she could have a relatively comfortable night- that is, as comfortable as she could be sleeping next to a murderous cannibal.

"We can rest now." Hannibal said, admiring their handiwork. "We'll search for _water _in the morning."

Clarice felt pain when he mentioned water.

"The pitcher should be as full as it will get by now." He said studying her closely. He offered no explanation as he left her.

He pitcher was warped but mostly undamaged. He brought it to her.

It wasn't as much water as she hoped for, but it was enough to make do. She drank half, careful not to seem gluttonous and handed it to him. She found she couldn't watch him drink the rest of his share. As he finished she pushed her knees to her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs watching the fire.

"What are you thinking about, Clarice?" Hannibal asked, his clinical coolness ever present.

"Water." She replied.

"Water? Not Bocrie laying in a ditch begging, 'save me Agent Starling, save me, save me...'?" He mocked.

She huffed, shaking her head.

"You probably saved my life." Clarice admitted. "I'm beginning to wonder if this wasn't your first plane crash."

"Hm." He said, a satisfied smile growing. "Let's just say, it's not my first crisis."

A silence passed between them and she had the impression he wouldn't expand on that comment.

"I think it would be beneficial for us to compose a set a rules...procedures and the like." He said.

"I agree." She said.

"We should never go anywhere separately without telling each other exactly where we are going. If you're injured or lost I want to be able to find you quickly." Hannibal said.

"I don't know how much wilderness training you had at your academy, but I had enough to understand you don't wander on you own." She replied.

"I can't assume you know these things." He said seriously. "For example, what if Brave Clarice sees a pair of arms flailing flag her down for help over yonder? She might feel an urge to run through the brush- in her excitement she loses her footing and twists her ankle...then Officer Chavez appears from behind a tree. He sees her at her most vulnerable and the ugly side of human nature grips him- he takes everything she has, including her clothes and leaves her to die- naked and alone. Yes, he'll even take those ugly shoes..."

"Is this how you entertain yourself, Doctor?" Clarice asked deadpan. "Inserting me into your bodice-ripping fantasies?"

"My fantasies involving you aren't that tame." He said roguishly, winking at her. She hoped he mistook her blush for sunburn.

Fat chance though.

"I want my gun." She said.

"No."

"You said we were equals. You know where my gun is and I don't. Right now we're not equal." She insisted.

"We are equal in my knowledge that I won't use a firearm, and I know you won't either." He replied.

"Sounds like you're making all the decisions around here." She snapped.

"Just the good ones." He said.

"You can't decide for me."

"And why is that, Clarice?"

She clenched her jaw, he awaited her answer. She realized that she held no power here, and he was flaunting that. It was becoming more and more apparent that he was in charge and expected her to follow him.

"When we're rescued I'll remember this." She threatened. He didn't reply but his smile grew. She noticed he had been smiling a lot since she saw him.

"On the plane you asked me what my dream was." He said looking into the fire. "It's very similar to being on a deserted island with you, Clarice. Doesn't that surprise you?"

_"No." _She thought. "Yes."

They caught each others gaze and Clarice knew she was no longer in charge.

* * *

**Authors Note: I admittedly am not a wilderness expert…so if you read something and think, "that wouldn't happen" or "that's not right", give yourself a pat on the back and type out an email to your Boy Scout or Girl Scout leader explaining what a stupid fuck the author of this Silence of the Lambs fan fic is instead of writing an essay on how wrong I am and submitting it as a review.**

**I also haven't read all Thomas Harris' books yet, so obviously this isn't really based on cannon. Once again please excuse my ignorance.**

**If you want some sort of reference to the island they are stranded on (because I decided to go full-on cliche and make it an island), I was inspired by Raoul Island which I believe is part of the Kermadec Islands. It's sub-tropical, has a lots of palms and not able to sustain coconut trees due to weather.**

**I am going to have Clarice run into survivors, I love the politics of people under strenuous circumstances so it's really going to get messy. I also love to think she's struggling with her feelings with Hannibal, I promise this is going to eventually turn into a bodice ripping romance…but I want to make it somewhat feasible. Which means it has to make some sort of sense why she'd fall in love with him.**

**Also, I'm sorry, but I am a slow writer. I'm going to let you know that right now incase you are looking for the next chapter within a day. I am going to try to write quality chapters without rushing it.**

**Thank you so much for your attention and I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

"It's getting quite late. Do you have a bedtime?" Hannibal asked.

Clarice would have gone to sleep an hour ago but she hated the idea of being unconscious and vulnerable while he was awake.

"I'm feeling restless." She lied. Actually, she felt quite hot, thirsty, and her clothes were dirty and sticky. She sat a little taller, aware sand had somehow found its way into her underwear despite wearing long pants.

"Someone who is restless wouldn't not be so quiet and still for such a long time. You're lying to me." He mused. "Why?"

"Because I don't want to fall asleep before you, Doctor." She admitted. She was certain he already knew.

"Ah, you believe I'm inclined to do something nefarious." He said. "Are you concerned I'll try to take advantage of you? Are you afraid I might put you in a position where you must… _defend your honor_?"

"No, I don't believe you'd do something like that." She replied, sincerely hoping he'd agree.

"…Tell me why you don't want to sleep." He said, the fire casting shadows on his face.

"I can't monitor you if I'm not awake." She said.

"You believe I have an agenda?"

"I believe you'll do anything that serves your best interests."

"That is the general definition of having an agenda." He replied dryly. "Tsk tsk, and I was just starting to think we were trusting each other."

"I can't help how I feel about you, Doctor." She said.

"…That's a very interesting comment, Clarice." He said softly.

"…I'm going to bed." She said trying to avoid another embarrassing conversation. She stood up and felt the sand rush from her underwear down her pant legs. As she made her way to the lean-to, she saw he hadn't made any effort to join her. "Don't come over here, I'm changing." she warned him. One of the white dress shirts was folded in the corner and she unraveled it.

She was glad to peel off the sweaty, sandy clothes- the cotton shirt was dry and lightweight, and big enough to cover her down to her mid-thigh. She removed her underwear and shook out the sand before putting them back on.

"Are you decent?" She heard Hannibal ask loudly.

"Almost." She announced. She contemplated wearing her pants to bed. It would give her better protection against bugs or anything that might crawl on her during the night, but the air felt good on her bare skin. She decided against wearing it, instead she rolled her pants into a ball to use for a pillow. "Okay!"

He put more wood on the fire and covered it with some foliage making it smoke before he joined her.

"Would you please help me out of my jacket?" He asked pleasantly, turning around.

She unbuckled the belts in the back, realizing how few times she'd actually touched him. She gently pushed the coat off his shoulders revealing a white t-shirt underneath that he had sweated through. He slipped out of the jacket and turned her.

"Thank you." he said politely. "I'll wear the other shirt, if you don't mind."

"Not at all." She said locating the other shirt and handing it to him. His display of gentlemanly conduct was off-putting, as it was deceptively easy to relax and be off her guard. That was usually when mistakes were made with him, when the people around him underestimated his savageness.

Despite her concerns, she cleared her throat slightly and looked away as he peeled off his t-shirt and replace it with the large, dress one.

"It's fortunate our friend had such poor dietary habits," he said "It's rather hot, as you know, so I'm also going to remove my pants. I hope that doesn't disturb you."

"No." She said feigning interest in the branch that held up their room. She tried to display a willingness to give him a sense of privacy.

He removed his shoes, socks, and pants and folded it neatly before laying down beside her.

"Are you going to watch over me, Agent Starling?" He asked as he lay on his back. "I promise to be good…"

She didn't grace him with an answer. Instead she lay down next to him and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself down and not be so self-conscious of his scrutiny. She heard him take a deep breath through his nose. Her heart skipped a beat as she recalled his keen sense of smell…was he…sniffing her?

"I think it might rain tomorrow." He said. No, he was just checking the weather…in his eccentric way.

"That would be so nice." She said, her thoughts dominated by water. She pushed the lustful thoughts back and forced herself to relax. He was quiet enough that she could pretend he wasn't there, with some effort she felt herself drifting into unconsciousness.

* * *

Clarice could feel the warm wind blowing over her. A palm leaf flipped up and tickled her neck so she sleepily pushed it down and rubbed her itch away before rolling over. It was still dark and the sky was clear of clouds, she could see bright stars in the brief moments she had opened her eyes.

Something crawling up her thigh destroyed the grandeur of the moment and she jerked awake, frantically slapping away the path the creature was taking. She sat up, her mind screaming in protest that insects were tickling her body; her sudden movements must have awakened Hannibal because he sat upright as well.

With some embarrassment she realized it was just another palm leaf tickling her leg, just as it was now brushing against her.

"Sorry, I'm fine. I thought it was a critter." She said lying down again.

He mumbled something and lay down as well. She was on her stomach, her arms above her head, wrapped around her make-shift pillow. The wooden slats below her were covered in palm fronds but it still wasn't entirely soft or comfortable. She pushed some of the foliage under her in her attempts to cushion her area more. Feeling it was as good as she was capable of making it, she resigned herself to sleep. A breeze pushed through and the air moved her nightshirt, she realized it was riding up so she opened her eyes to pull it down- and she saw Hannibal Lecter, his gaze focused on hers- it jarred her and she gasped in shock.

"Oh god-" She choked.

"…Yes?" He said, splitting into a grin.

"Are you watching me?" She asked him, her heart pumping out her chest.

"You woke me with your spastic writhing." He replied. "You're rather noisy."

"I won't be able to fall asleep if you're looking at me. So, stop…go to sleep."

"Is that an order, Agent Starling?" He asked.

"I'm too tired to get into this with you." She said turning away from him. She realized with some embarrassment that her shirt was still above her hips and she hastily pulled it down over her underwear.

She felt his fingers comb through her hair and she bolted upright.

"What do you think your-" She snarled.

He held a bug up to her face.

"It was in your hair." He said simply.

"…Sorry…thanks…" she trailed off. "I'm tired."

He flicked the bug away. She sighed, laying down once more and watching the fire's glowing embers. Although it was really low it was still burning. She scanned the beach, despite their desperate situation she felt lucky to experience the majesty and beauty of the shore.

She jumped slightly when Hannibal's hand swiped through her hair once more.

"Another bug?" She said.

"Yes, we should probably raise the flooring; your hair seems to be the perfect nest for pests." He proclaimed.

"That's…delightful." She replied rubbing her eyes warily. In that moment she was too tired to be horrified by the notion her head was a bug-hotel.

"Your hair is tangled." He said.

She tried to push a hand through her hair and found he was right as she encountered many knots.

"I'll take care of it in the morning." She said not wanting to imagine what she looked like. "I'm going to sleep."

"...Pleasant dreams, Clarice." he whispered. "Good night, sleep tight…don't let the bed-bugs bite…"

* * *

The morning air was humid and hot, much to Clarice's displeasure. Last night she wouldn't have guessed that it would rain, but she thought Hannibal's prediction of rain seemed accurate as a blanket of clouds cast a shadow over the land and water. She was about to tell him so but as she rolled over to bid him good-morning she saw he wasn't there.

"So much for the buddy system." She grunted, getting to her feet.

Hannibal's clothes were missing and his large white dress-shirt was folded and tucked away into the corner. She scanned the beach to see if he slipped out for a walk or to take care of some business, but there was no evidence of him in sight, he had simply disappeared.

_"He probably wouldn't leave for too long, not after all the effort they poured into building a camp."_ Clarice thought. She recognized his absence created the perfect chance to search for her gun. _"Then I can start making some decisions around here."_

She pondered where he would hide the gun. The woods perhaps?

She quickly changed into her clothes, they were still a little damp and sandy, but keeping them in the shelter proved smart as she realized the ground was wet from the morning dew. She tucked her pant-legs into her socks, grateful that she had decided against the pencil skirt she was considering wearing before the plane crash.

Her limbs were heavy and she felt slightly nauseous, she tried not to expend too much energy in her search because she realized she was beginning to sweat already.

_"I'll have to make this quick."_

She did a standard sweep of her surroundings, trying to see if anything was out of place.

_"No, he's too clever to hide it somewhere obvious." _She thought. "_He knew I would try to find it…so where would Clarice Starling *not* look?"_

"Obvious places: in a tree…" she said out loud. "In a stump. Under rocks."

She heard a rustling in the brush.

"Doctor?" She called, freezing in her steps. She tried to pinpoint exactly where the rustling had come from. In the stillness there was no sound except the buzzing of insects, and then the rustling started up again, only snapped twigs had joined it. "Damn it!" She cursed. She scanned the ground for a heavy branch.

She found a small one that was a little thin, but a few swings gave her enough confidence to keep her weapon as it whipped nicely through the air. If it was a wild animal she would try to get away, but if pressed, a few well aimed swats to the eyes or nose might discourage it from pursuing her.

"Doctor Lecter?" She shouted once more.

She could see branches getting pulled back and relaxed, whatever it was it was too large to be an animal- it had to be a person.

"Clarice." Hannibal called, stepping through the brush. He was indeed dressed and was wearing the straight jacket backwards.

"I thought we had an agreement." She hissed dropping her stick. "You suggested that we know where each other is at all times."

"I left you a message." He replied.

"What? What message?"

"You didn't see it?" He asked, seemly surprised. "It was next to the fire pit."

"I wasn't near the fire pit." She replied. She threw her hands upwards. "I'm in the woods."

"Oh Clarice…" He whispered clicking his tongue. His smiled at her, "You weren't looking for that firearm, were you?"

"That is NOT why I didn't see your message." She replied indignant.

"Mmm." He hummed, unconvinced. "I'll remember next time to put it in an area you'll look for it. My messages, not the gun."

"Yeah, I get it. You're hysterical." She said her face burning. "Where did you go?"

"Come with me." He ordered her, waving her towards him.

He seemed to be making his own path as he cut through brambles and underbrush. She stumbled after him, feeling much less graceful as branches whipped at her overhead. In their hike something like an over-sized grasshopper landed on his shoulder. She allowed it to rest on him for nearly half a minute before calling for a halt.

"Doctor wait." She said catching up to him.

He stood still and she picked up the bug. She was going to toss it away but he showed interest in it so she kept it in her hand for him to observe.

"Thank you Clarice." He said in polite whisper. She frowned in confusion, wondering why he was making a big deal over a bug.

"You're wel-" she started.

Without a beat he pulled the head off the bug, then tore off the legs and stripped it of its wings. Clarice felt a little nauseated at his mechanical display of dismemberment- but was completely unprepared when he popped the rest of its body in his mouth.

"…ah…" Clarice said in shock. She knew he didn't appreciate rudeness but couldn't stop gawking as he chewed and swallowed.

"If you see any more, please let me know." He said, seemingly unaware how disturbed she was. He resumed hiking towards wherever he was taking her.

"_Of course he eats bugs…_" Clarice thought. "_He eats anything…he eats people._" She made the connection and felt she was going to vomit. Yes, that's exactly the way he viewed people. Rip out their innards and swallow them down.

She wondered if it ever bothered him how disgusting people thought he was.

"Well hello beautiful." He said turning towards her. She saw he had a similar bug between his finger and thumb. "I'll let you have this one, Clarice."

No, no it probably didn't. He held it up to her face, and she laughed nervously as it fidgeted in his fingers.

"No, that's okay." Clarice said. "You go ahead."

"I insist." he replied pronouncing the 't' very sharp. "I'll clean it for you." His eyes widening.

"...I know beggars shouldn't be choosers, but I'd rather not." She said timidly. "_Oh God he looks so crazy. He really wants me to eat that thing._"

His silence was heavy with disapproval. She looked away, focusing on a nearby tree and picked at a low-hanging branch. After a few awkward seconds she dared to face him. Even as he held her reluctant attention he didn't speak or move.

"…Fine." She sighed, feeling defeated. Perhaps if she swallowed it without chewing she'd be able to get it down.

"It's an excellent source of protein." He explained. She felt her head swim as he pulled off the head, wings and legs and held the body in the palm of her hand. "Don't be intimidated, they're actually quite tasty."

He dropped it in her outstretched hand and she saw it roll on its side. Her stomach did a flip-flop.

"I'm sorry…I'm not good with bugs." Clarice found a little relief in her excuses. He didn't reply or make any sort of acknowledgement of the verbal conflict; he just stared right through her with his piercing gaze. She took a deep breath.

"_Okay Clarice, this is *by far* not the worst thing you've ever had to do._" She thought to herself. "_Remember Old Man Harris' fish and rabbit stew? You know the trick. Don't think about how it tastes, just chew four times and swallow._"

She readied herself mentally.

"_You're delicious._" She thought, looking at the bug carcass. "_And I am going to eat you_."

She took a deep breath and just like she'd seen Hannibal do, she popped the whole in her mouth. It was crunchy and she counted to four as she chewed it; she wasn't sure what she expected it to taste like but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Still, the realization she was eating a bug couldn't be ignored and it threatened to turn her stomach, so she hastily swallowed it down.

There was no praise from Hannibal when she finished eating it. Instead, he began to march again, leading her once more farther from their camp.

"_Please don't find another one._" Clarice prayed.

Finally they came open an open area, and Clarice could have cried with happiness. It was a lake, a very large lake that was miles wide with beautiful light-blue water.

They had been walking in the dim woods for ten minutes, what little light was hidden behind the clouds shone on the water.

"You found a lake this morning?" She asked.

"I confess I didn't find the lake without help." He said. "Earlier this morning I overheard two people arguing. I didn't want them to find me with you, so I tracked them back to their camp. They stopped by this lake on the way."

"You found another camp?" She gasped. He was always ten steps ahead of her, and while it was comforting that he was so efficient in saving her life, it was disturbing how she never seemed to get equal footing during the crisis.

"Yes." He said. "I have another confession…" He walked over to a large bush and pulled a tea-kettle out of it. "I took some of their unguarded valuables."

Clarice's mouth dropped open, her mind racing.

"You- why-" She stuttered. As soon as her questions surfaced she was able to answer them. Of course he took the remaining survivors things, he didn't value their survival. She forced herself to mentally connect the dots regarding his behavior and the motivations behind it. "If they find their stuff at our camp they'll be pissed."

"Most likely." He replied, unconcerned.

"That would sabotage my relations with them." She said angrily. "I can't return anything because they'll know someone was in their camp taking things- I don't want to tell them you took it because they'll know you're my ally!"

"It's quite a dilemma." He said. Rage threatened to choke her as she saw excitement flash in his eyes. He was toying with her!

"_I could take things back and leave it at their camp without them seeing me._" Clarice thought. It would be difficult, especially since it was most likely that Hannibal wouldn't let her do it. "_Or I could tell them that he stole it and I stole it back."_

A rumble from the sky announced the threat of rain.

"I believe that's our cue to return to camp." He said looking up at the clouds.

Clarice had been trying to stave off the fatigue that ebbed away at her but its heaviness was beginning to weigh her down. It was apparent she was dangerously dehydrated as nausea gripped her stomach tighter and she was having trouble focusing on her footing as they marched towards the camp.

"Doctor..." She said, gripping his shoulder for balance.

"I know." He said. A strong breeze whistled through the trees and she felt her sweat cool against her skin. "It's just a little further." He encouraged her.

The next burst of air was flecked with drops of water, and the trees began to sway. The smell of moisture and rain on the earth filled her senses. One loud clap of thunder announced the storm before it began to pelt water down on her. The prospect of drinking water renewed her strength, She pressed on aware her shoes had begun to slide dangerously on the wet underbrush. She set her jaw and kept going until she saw their camp in view.

"_It's just another training exercise. Come on Clarice, you're almost there…_" She thought. "_Please don't pass out, please don't throw up…"_

They were both soaked when they broke through to the beach. The waves were rolling and lapping up the shore vigorously, Clarice hoped they were high up enough the shoreline to weather through the storm without anything being swept away. What a nightmare that would be.

"Take off your wet clothes." Hannibal said when they arrived at the lean-to. "I'll be back."

She worked the buttons on her blouse briefly before pulling her shirt off.

"Water, water everywhere and nor a drop to drink." She recalled the old proverb as she slipped off her shoes, socks and pants.

She began to unhitch the hooks of her bra in the back but clipped them in when Hannibal approached her with the pitcher of water.

"Drink it slowly." He told her.

She obeyed and took short, deliberate sips, relying on the years of discipline and self-control she had developed in the academy. He sat next to her in the lean-to and removed his straight jacket and t-shirt and pants, hanging them off the edge of the lean-to to drip down. Once Clarice had drank her fill she placed the pitcher next to him. He took his time drinking the rest of what was in it, then wedged the pitcher in an open area to catch the rain, as well as removing the topper on the tea kettle.

"May I make a suggestion? And please forgive me if it comes out rude." He said returning under the shelter. They sat tight against the slanted wall of their lean-to, pleased that no drips penetrated their roof.

When he was "rude" it usually was emotionally devastating. She steeled herself mentally for whatever dig he might make. She was half-worried it would be underwear-related, as they were both now sitting in their drawers. He remained quiet until she nodded.

"Will you allow me to groom your hair?" He asked.

"Only if you promise not to make me eat anything you find in it." She said, relieved it wasn't a personal criticism.

"You've survived a plane crash, going into shock, dehydration… and feel the cruelest infliction of this crisis is I made you eat an insect." He said.

"I know it doesn't faze you, but I'm not used to eating…" she trailed off, feeling she was going to say something inappropriate by mistake.

"…Yes…?" He said, his tone delighted.

"I mean, I don't have exotic tastes." She finished lamely.

"Mmm." He hummed. He had put on the white dress shirt and handed the other to her. "If you are referring to the consumption of insects, Entomophagy is not an exotic practice. It's a common food source in many cultures…it's an easy and sustainable source of protein- which means If we are unable to catch fish or hunt you'll be eating many more locusts."

"I'm sure we won't have to resort to that." Clarice laughed nervously, wringing out her hair. "_Oh God, please don't let us resort to that."_

"If you meant 'exotic tastes' and were referring to the consumption of human flesh-"

"-I wasn't." She interrupted him, not even wanting to attempt to go down that road. "I was referring to the bugs." She said firmly.

"Fair enough." He said softly with a predatory smile.

She felt the hairs on her arms prickle and suppressed a shiver as he sat closer to her.

"I'm checking your head for vermin." He announced, running curved fingers through her scalp.

He was pulling sections of her hair away, pausing occasionally to observe parts of her head. She closed her eyes, wariness taking over her as he unknowingly brought her pleasure from massaging her scalp. It had been so long since she had touched so tenderly. He was obviously practiced with his hands; every move was careful and deliberate. After he checked her scalp he began to work on her hair. She felt no pain as he worked through the tangles, starting from the tips of her locks and working his way to the top.

The pattering of rain against the roof and the sound of waves crashing relaxed her further.

"Clarice…" He sang her name softly, just behind her ear.

"Hm?"

"You're drifting." He informed her playfully.

"I'm tired." She said.

"I noticed you had trouble sleeping last night." He said. "I imagine it'll be even more difficult for you to rest as our situation becomes more complicated."

"Why is that, Doctor?" She asked.

"You must be asking yourself how far your loyalties towards me lay. You said I'm your ally, I took that very seriously Clarice, and in turn I've treated you as mine. There's a bond between us that could not have been built unless under isolation and pressure. Saving your life was the perfect opportunity to reveal my respect and devotion towards you, something you never would have accepted before this crisis."

Her insides twisted. Compliments did not come easily from him and she knew he was being honest about his 'devotion', although she suspected it was more of an obsession.

"Are you with me," he asked pushing her hair to the side off her neck, "or did you fall asleep?"

"I'm awake." She said, all of her senses buzzing with alarm.

"...I know you're a good person, Clarice. I know your conscience will influence you to make the seemingly 'moral' choice. So admittedly I've become concerned about our 'treaty'. I confess I have no plans to remain hidden from the others forever, nor to be subjected to whatever idiotic fate they have planned for me. A conflict is inevitable. I wonder, will you take action to keep me safe from your confederates should they feel compelled to eliminate me? Or will you join them, their daft, panicked faces awakening the eternally noble guardian and protector? You won't turn into Special Agent Starling, will you? Because if you do I fear I'll be forced to turn into... well, I think you know."

Clarice knew.

Her mouth dropped with horror as he placed a lingering kiss on the back of her neck.

* * *

**Authors Note: Wow. I wrote this chapter THREE TIMES! Yes, three! And I must have edited it at least half a million times. Honestly, I didn't expect my first chapter to drum up so much interest, I mean- I wasn't even aware that Silence of the Lambs had this active a fan base. With every kind word I really felt the pressure was on to deliver. **

**Every time I wrote a survivor brushing elbows with Clarice it didn't go into the direction I wanted it to so I scrapped it. I figured I could set up a more tense situation by Hannibal building trust between himself and Clarice only to use that trust to manipulate her into staying with him on his terms... or else. (There has to be an 'or else', the man is a monster!) **

**I ate up all of your reviews, I really appreciate the feedback. I assure you that even though I'm a slow careful and writer I will not abandon a fan fiction without some sort of conclusion. Once again I feel like this was sort of a "setting up" chapter...setting up for disaster! (For my characters, hopefully not for chapters ahead.)**


	3. Chapter 3

You're making my decision very easy, Doctor." She said trying to keep her voice resolute.

His kiss ended, and now his nose was burying into the side of her neck. She heard- and felt- him sniff her deeply.

His sniffing reminded Clarice of the monster movie her father had forbid her to watch when she was 8 years-old. It was a late night Dracula special, and she was fascinated with the beautiful women in their lavish costumes and fancy speech- a window into a life so different from her own. She recalled her horror in her child's mind when the evil vampire nuzzled the helpless and beautiful woman's throat- him over-come with perverse ecstasy- her helpless and clueless to a heinous attack she didn't know or yet understand. The crescendo rang before the vampire sank his teeth into her flesh.

Clarice had slept poorly for a week. Her father never told her "I told you so", but he had an amused smile and would shake his head when he found her repeatedly huddled in blankets on the couch with an onion tucked under the covers. The memory was always funny and somewhat charming, but in that moment it wounded her.

Hannibal's strong hands had wrapped around her shoulders and his thumbs were drawing little circles into her sore upper back.

"You're making me uncomfortable." She said, trying to keep her voice clear and calm. She was hoping she could disarm the situation gracefully by making her discomfort politely known.

"I'm making you uncomfortable?" He asked with a note of concern. His feigned innocence would have convinced anyone had they not been acquainted with his excellent skill for mimicking emotion.

"Yes." She replied.

"Am I really?" He asked, this time sarcastic and mocking. His thumbs never stopped their swivel into her shoulders, they only roamed closer to her neck after he felt he had sufficiently massaged an area.

"Yes you are- stop." She ordered him.

One thing she didn't want to do was yank herself away from his grip, it would only cause tension. If things blew up, where would she go? It was still raining, and there wasn't really a place for her to run. She didn't know where the other camp was and she was hardly in any sort of position to flee. She had made the choice very quickly she wanted him to take measures to stop on his own.

"You said that you wouldn't try to take advantage of me-" She said.

"Nooooo." he said interrupting her, suddenly impatient. "You said you, 'didn't believe I'd do something like that'." He corrected her. "That is all."

_Oh God oh God oh God oh God. Where is that GODDAMN GUN!? _

She knew her words could bring her ruin or power, as it always had with Hannibal Lecter. It was experience and exposure to him that taught her begging or whining would only disgust him…not that she would ever allow him the pleasure.

"If you don't stop touching me, I'm going to consider this an attack and defend myself." She proclaimed.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" He taunted her. "I imagine you're flushing with embarrassment right now- as you always do when I flirt with you. Are you embarrassed for me? Does flirting with you make me unseemly? Or are you embarrassed because you enjoy my advances and that wounds your good-character?"

"I'm embarrassed I have to tell someone who is as intelligent and perceptive as you that you're crossing the line." She replied stiffly. "Last warning, Doctor. Get your hands off me."

She was careful not to seem relieved as his fingers slid away from her shoulders. As soon as the contact was gone she faced him, keeping her expression neutral as he studied her with clever eyes.

"Thank you." She said. Perhaps they could forget the whole matter.

"Ever try to pet a cat that didn't want to be pet?" Hannibal asked her abruptly.

Clarice held her gaze and didn't blink as he awaited her response. He wasn't going to allow the rejection to be swept under the rug.

"Yes." She said coolly.

"It's difficult, isn't it?" He reflected. "They often scratch, bite, or run away."

She didn't reply.

"They never lean into your touch." He said. "…Not like how you lean into mine, Clarice." He said with a hint of satisfaction.

"You wanted us to build trust between each other," Clarice reasoned. "You realize that this is destroying my faith in you, right?"

"You want to know what I think?" He asked, his eyes flashing with spite. "I think you trust me completely, and you continue to trust me with your welfare. You sleep, you drink, and you struggle to live with me. Not a single time have you objected, at least with force, to the strides I've made as your savior. And now, as you sit there with your sore back and your tightly held honor, you insist that I am the betrayer of your trust. My crime? A bit of light petting. Why does that put you off Clarice? I think it's difficult for you to come to terms that it is not me who you don't trust, as your body sways under my hands and your face continues to flush with pleasure at the kindness of my words, I think the betrayer of your trust is _you_."

"You're wrong." She said. It was a statement more to guard his poison from herself than to convince him out of his argument.

"...You said you can't help how you feel about me, Clarice." He whispered leaning close to her. "I believe when you said that you were telling yourself the truth."

He kissed her lips and Clarice felt the shadow of his stubble brush against her face. This was really happening. It wasn't a savage or forceful kiss as she might have expected from him, nor was it a timid peck on the lips. Clarice kept her eyes open while his were closed.

In every relationship, whether it be a friendship or a romantic one, there is one underlying unpredictable factor and it's chemistry. Chemistry with a person is what makes us prefer a ten minute walk with an old friend more than a lavish vacation with a spouse. Chemistry destroys marriages between old couples in the guise of flings; it's excitement and comfort in the soul as people spark and dream together, laugh at each others jokes and run into each others arms. Chemistry is sometimes easily spotted and sometimes not. And sometimes it's best revealed between two people with a kiss.

Clarice lost the ability to breathe somewhere in the middle of that kiss and she felt the undeniable surge of chemistry between them. As he pulled away, his mouth was slightly open and his lips were colored by the pressure against hers. She knew he also felt the intense hunger and pull between them, and he shot her a knowing look, as if their kiss was proof enough everything he had said to her was right.

It scared her. It scared the hell out of her. She let out her breath, her lungs aching.

_What do you feel towards him, Clarice?_" her inner monologue rang. "_Is he right? Are you lying to yourself, do you have affection for Hannibal Lecter?_

She searched her feelings, allowing brutal honesty to hurt her if she discovered what scared her most.

_"Yes. I have affection for Hannibal Lecter." _She admitted. The thought would have destroyed her if she did not find something else buried deep in her feelings for him. _"And I know who I am, and who he is."_

Kicking her legs out proved to be wise as he lurched forward and was denied her arm. She pushed him back, not an easy feat for her as she was weak from hunger.

He had sensed, like all predators do, that his prey had discovered the moment before the pounce. She scooted backwards and made a blind swipe with her left hand, lucky to grab her shoes before she fell out of the lean-to on her back. She twisted and jumped to her feet. Hannibal was taking precious time putting on his own shoes, she decided to match his pace to her advantage and slipped hers on as well.

She knew the devil was hot on her heels as she bolted into the woods. His shoes were made of canvas with a thinner sole, not like her more sturdy boots which were better suited for wilderness. At last, an advantage! The shoes he had made her feel so ashamed of would be his downfall- if she could waste the breath to gloat over her shoulder she would have.

Sprinting is not like running or jogging. Sprinting is like screaming instead of talking for an hour, you have to have the body for it and not everyone who is good at running is good at sprinting.

Clarice was a decent sprinter. She had gone through phases in her FBI training where her jogging sessions consisted of a steady pace broken by exhausting bursts of fast running. She was familiar with her limits and what pace she could go without weakening her gait.

She could hear him over her deep breathing and judged his distance from her by the timing in which his feet fell from a dead tree she jumped over. It was unlikely that he'd catch her- if he risked running faster he'd probably slip on the wet ground in those canvas shoes. Also, she was the better runner.

His footsteps were falling behind and Clarice dared to glance back.

Everyone looks different when they run, for the most part. He was indeed sprinting, and perhaps to keep his feet from sliding he kept his knees high so his footfalls would go down instead of out. The upper half of his body was forward- he reminded her of a charging bull.

He caught her eye, and just like a bull who see's the matador swing the red cloth, he took a sharp right and sprinted the other way.

_What the fuck?_

Clarice didn't slow her pace in case that was his plan. She couldn't hear his foot-falls very well, then not at all as she put distance between where she was and where he had left her.

_Why? Think Clarice. Why would he just let you go?_

She slowed down, she couldn't keep her sprint much longer anyway. After a ten seconds she had stopped completely, gulping down the muggy air.

_Understand what you saw. Okay, you're running, he's running after you. He knows he can't catch you, he knows he can't stop you, but he runs after you. He stays with you. You see him and that's when he leaves, why? He can't sneak up on you or you'll hear him and he'll have to chase you again. _

_Oh shit. He's not chasing you. He knows he can't beat you that way. He wanted you to know that he's not chasing you- because he's running the other way- he's going to the other camp and he wants you to know it! _

Her advantages weren't really advantages at all when he changed the game. She spat another curse and began to back-track. Maybe he turned right to trick her. He could have turned right and when she lost him hiked left. She didn't put it past him to do that.

The rain had mostly stopped but the water dripping off the leaves onto her gave her the impression it was still drizzling as it dripped on her. She dug deep for courage, she could either ran back to the camp where the lovesick madman would return, or she could go deeper into the rabbit-hole to find a camp of survivors that may or may not be real. She had only taken Hannibal at his word that they existed.

After she caught her breath she took a good look around her. She was certain this was about where Hannibal had taken his sharp turn, if not she was only off a couple yards.

She began to run, she began to chase the hunter.

* * *

There was no possible way, even with her great shoes and her excellent endurance training, that she would arrive to any sort of camp before him.

Clarice had stuck with running in one direction, the same one she saw Hannibal take, and it had paid off. She found the lake. It was a little difficult to miss since it was huge but it was an achievement none-the-less.

She allowed herself to rest as she sat on a flat rock. The lake wasn't as pleasant as she first remembered, mainly because there were lots of bugs trying to fly into her eyes and buzzing around her sweaty face. Her legs were bare and getting bit up terribly, the over-sized dress-shirt had offered her little protection, and she saw dried blood and mud streaked all over them.

She debated if it would be wise to linger there. On one hand, if there were survivors there was a good possibility they'd run into her if she stayed at the lake. On the other hand, there was no guarantee that she wouldn't run into Dr. Lecter, who knew she would be here.

She scanned the lake, seeking life. It was getting late and bats were soaring overhead, eating the bugs. The sky was clearer but it was getting dark. Sleeping near the lake would be incredibly uncomfortable and probably dangerous if it came down to that. Wandering the woods near dark would be worse. Doctor Lecter roaming the island was the absolute worst.

She felt tears spring to her eyes causing temporary blindness and instant attraction to the small bugs flying around her head. How was she going to get out of this? Her self-pitying lapse was momentary as she wiped her tears away and tried to put herself together.

_Losing it is just as dangerous. Use your brain, girl._

She could build an emergency shelter. She already had experience, and if she hid it well enough Lecter might not find her. That would be best because if someone was coming she could reveal herself…or not.

She searched the edge of the wood and found a big bush that would serve to give her some camouflage from prying eyes. Draping branches and leaves over it wouldn't look too out of ordinary. The floor was full of dead branches; finding a good one was difficult because so many were were rotted through with digesting bugs crawling in them.

A loud bang interrupted her quest for finding shelter supplies. It came from her left and echoed until it came from everywhere. She knew that sound- it was a gun. She dropped the branches relieved. No building tonight!

She ran to her left, praying that she didn't mistake where the gunshot had come from. She felt weak and dizzy, and her stomach hurt; She hadn't ate and was exercising quite a lot in the past few days. With exception of the locust, her body was running off fumes.

Running through the woods was slow-going now the light had faded. She had to avoid a particularly ugly web with a dangerous looking spider that she spotted before running right into it. She was scratching her arms, so sweaty and clammy as she ran towards the gun-shot careful to not let groups of trees unknowingly turn her around.

Her heart leapt- she heard voices- yelling!

She could smell a fire. She could hear people speaking, the earth beneath her was starting to go to grit and she realized that it was mixed with sand.

She jogged the last few steps into the open beach before resting her hands on her knees.

Five men and one woman stared at her with amazement as she lifted up one arm in greeting.

"I'm Clarice Starling!" She huffed desperately. She was so pleased not to see Hannibal Lecter among them. "He hasn't been here, has he? He knows you're here-"

Her gaze settled on a figure she thought was sitting, but realized now he was only propped up. There was a bullet wound in his chest near the heart and he was dead. She snapped her head to the group, studying them again.

The woman was scared, while two of the men looked angry, the last man, tired. The older of the angry men was sneering at her. In his hand was Clarice's gun.

"Great." The man with the gun spat. "Another person. And it's a _woman_. She'll be even more useless than Chavez."

"Stop it Eric!" The woman snapped.

"What's going on here?" Clarice asked. "I'm Special Agent Clarice Starling, I believe you have my gun." She said frowning.

"Your gun?" He said holding it up. Clarice saw the safety was off.

"Did you shoot that man, Sir?" She asked.

"Yeah I shot him!" Eric shouted. "I had to, he's been a pain in everyones ass since day one!"

"Don't ask him to calm down, he never does." The tired man mumbled.

"Shut up!" Eric spat.

"Sir, that is loaded firearm. I would appreciate it if you put the safety back on."

"Who _the fuck_ are you?" He spat, his eyes wild. "I'm in charge here, you think I'm going to let any stupid bitch arrive and lord over me? No. I make the rules goddamn it! No more bullshit!"

"Alright, you can make the rules." Clarice said. "You''ll get no arguments from me. Please secure the gun."

"Please Eric…" The woman said crying.

Eric looked at the two women with disgust before flicking on the safety on the gun.

"Useless." He said, spitting on the ground. "Marcus."

"Yes?"

"Interrogate the new arrival."

Clarice would always wonder if she should have ran.

* * *

**Authors Note: I know my chapters are getting shorter, that's not intentional nor a reflection on my interest. I would have written more but I think there's something about having something to read on a lazy Saturday and I wanted to publish today.**

**It took me some time to write this because I was also trying to read Thomas Harris' _Hannibal_ in three days. I just finished the book yesterday, so you can probably predict what my next paragraph is going to be about: the controversial ending.**

**The only thing I could think of as I kept flipping to the title of the book (to confirm I was reading the same book I had picked up seconds ago) was, "**_**Well, at least my fan fiction romance will be more believable.**_**" Don't get me wrong, I can find value in the ending to the book Hannibal, it just seems disjointed. And..that's really all I have to say about that.**

**Anyway, you can see Clarice is in quite a pickle! Ooo, that saucy, vengeful, clever Hannibal Lecter just wants to have Clarice all to himself to fulfill his dark, sticky, depraved desires! She's not sure she likes that, or wants to admit she likes that. She's too busy anyway trying to save the others which is quickly looking like she'll need to save herself. **

**Out of the frying pan and into the fire!**

**I know I keep saying this, but thank you all so much for writing reviews. I read them between phone calls at work or while I write and it's such an ego-boost.**


	4. Chapter 4

_"Well, now I know where my gun is."_ Clarice thought bitterly. She thought Eric looked like a thug as he stuffed her colt in his front waistband of his jeans. _"I bet Hannibal was laughing at me the whole time as I searched our camp. I must have looked like such a fool."_

It seemed to Clarice that Marcus had some sort of military or formal training, or at least he had that look of a soulless aggressor as he mechanically subdued her. No one from the group followed them as he dragged her towards the shore. Clarice stepped over medium to large rocks that had been placed strategically on the shore to spell "SOS". She recalled that aside from the fire Hannibal and she had built, they had made no real efforts to announce their presence to increase the chances of being discovered. That was probably intentional.

Clarice toyed with the idea of twisting out of Marcus' vice grip on her elbow, but felt it would be an admission of guilt if she were to resist him, and she wasn't certain what his boundaries were or what would happen if she caused an escalated incident. Chavez's dead body was enough to convince her to tread lightly.

"What's going on here, Marcus?" She asked.

"That's not your business." He snarled.

"Why does your leader want to interrogate _me_?" Clarice snapped. "I think you all have a lot more to answer for- like how the hell are you going to explain that dead body back there?"

"Remember the plane crash? That's how we'll explain it." Marcus replied.

"With a bullet in his heart!?" Clarice shouted. "That don't make any damn sense!" She cursed, her West Virginian accent ringing harsh.

"Chavez bitched about everything, didn't listen to anyone, stole or destroyed half our supplies and drank like a goddamn fish!" Marcus snapped.

"Yeah, he sounds like he deserved to die." Clarice snapped sarcastically.

He had led her to the hand-truck that once held Hannibal Lecter. It was buried in the sand and steadied by some heavy rocks, some of the shackles were broken but most hung lose and seemed functional.

"You can't be serious." Clarice huffed. She stopped abruptly and was rewarded with him whipping around and smacking her hard in the face. It shocked her, and her sluggish reflexes showed as she stepped backward to steady herself. He managed to twist and shove her against the hand-truck to lock her wrists in. She was amazed how well he absorbed her kicks to his ankles and knees.

_"I must really be weak." _Clarice thought.

"I know what this looks like, but believe me, we won't survive another Chavez, and me and Eric aren't willing to go through that again." Marcus snarled. "If you're okay you've got nothing to worry about. Although I doubt it because you've got some explaining to do."

"Explaining?" Clarice gasped. "I was in plane crash, the same crash as you! There's nothing else to explain!"

"We remember you, Agent Starling." He said. She could hear the triumph ringing in his voice. "Can I give you some suggestions on where to start? I want to know who 'knows we're here'- although I can take a guess on who the big mystery guest is. And we also have been wondering how you and Hannibal the Cannibal knew the plane was going to crash before it did. You two weren't exactly quiet as you were collaborating."

"Collaborating?" Clarice repeated shocked. "You think the plane crash had something to do with me?"

"Everyone was saying how you begged to be on that plane."

"So I can crash it? That's insane!" Clarice shouted. "Even if that were true, my God, how would I do it? And why would I risk my life? There's no guarantee any of us would have survived that! We're surrounded by ocean!"

"It seemed like your partner knew exactly what to do to keep you safe. You look whole to me."

_Partner._

"Oh my God, this is the dumbest thing I've ever heard." Clarice said. "I'm almost scared to ask, but why I would crash a plane for Hannibal Lecter?"

"He made you a real hot-shot, didn't he?" Marcus sniped. "Figured you owed him one, huh?"

"I can't listen to this anymore." Clarice scowled. "You're so deep in bullshit you're seeing brown."

"We'll see." Marcus grunted. "I think I'll let you sweat it out a little. You've got some fair skin, an hour in the sun will make you crisp up like a Christmas turkey." He smirked. "Maybe after you work on that tan a while you'll have some answers for us. Think about it. I'll be back."

* * *

The sun was high and blazing, and so was her arms. Her exposed legs took the heat better, but she knew she was in for some serious pain if she was kept in the sun for much longer. The tip of her nose was already probably burnt, as it was usually the first thing to redden when she spent long summer days outside.

She felt heartsick. Once more, she was alone and up against the wall under the worst possible circumstances. Those she had wanted so badly to protect had turned on her like a frightened hound bites it's master, and the person who was the least trustworthy had been proved a worthy accomplice. Clarice was beginning to wonder if her principles didn't match her nature. How could she find companionship in a man so evil?

The heat and her hunger and thirst made her feel worn. She shut her eyes and concentrated on the sound of waves, she pretended she was away from everyone and everything, she needed this break from the ugliness of humanity.

"Hey."

It was the woman. She was clenching the bottom of her shirt nervously as her gaze constantly shifted to behind Clarice.

"You really saw us at our worst back there." She said with a weak smile. "You must think we're-"

"Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?" Clarice interrupted. She didn't see the value in chit-chatting with anyone that pretended her baking in the sun wasn't heinous.

"Craziness." She woman replied, her smile gone. "We're not lying that Chavez was a bastard, but I don't agree with Eric or what he's doing to you. But as you can see he's got the gun so he makes the rules."

"So why are you here?" Clarice asked.

"...Because I wanted to ask you something." She replied her voice going into a whisper. Clarice sensed the woman's fear and wondered if Marcus was close by. "You said...you mentioned that someone knew we were here. Is that who I think it is?"

"Who do you think I was talking about?" Clarice asked.

"Hannibal the Cannibal." The woman replied.

Clarice nodded. Fear flashed in the woman's eyes and she looked to the tree-line with earnest.

"Listen, I came here to warn you." Clarice snapped. If they were going to share a moment, Clarice thought she might as well go all cards in. "I know Hannibal Lecter, I've dealt with him many times. I suspect he's probably already here, and I know for a fact he's been in your camp before. The last person that should be tied to this thing is me, if you truly believed what Eric is doing is wrong you'd let me out of here before more people get hurt- or die."

"Alright." She sighed. Clarice could see she was thinking. "They'll know it was me if I set you free." She said softly.

"Will they hurt you for it?" Clarice asked.

"Probably."

"…Do you think I'm working with Hannibal Lecter?" Clarice asked.

"No." The woman said. "They do, but I don't think psychopaths work with people."

"…Then you can help me by letting me go and telling them you saw him free me." Clarice said.

The woman seemed astonished, then incredibly nervous.

"They'll come looking for you." She warned.

"I figured they probably would. You can't tell me I'm not already in a tight spot." Clarice replied.

"No offense, but you look terrible. I doubt you'll make it." She replied. Clarice could see she was already starting to have second thoughts freeing her.

"I haven't drank anything for a while. I haven't ate since the crash either." Clarice admitted. "I'm pretty strong though, and a very good runner. In fact, I out-ran Doctor Lecter."

The woman seemed more disturbed by her argument than convinced in her abilities.

"What's your name?" Clarice asked.

"Angela Kelly."

"Please help me Angela. I can stop the craziness, but I can't do it in this." Clarice begged straining against her shackles. "I mean...do you really think Eric is going to get better?"

Clarice knew she had said the right thing to sway her. This time when Angela scanned the tree-line, her fear had been replaced with cold determination. Angela had Clarice free in a couple of minutes.

"Don't move. Not yet." Angela commanded her. "Wait five minutes and then go straight back into the woods. I'll leave some food and water for you on the ground. Then run. I'll tell Eric I saw the cannibal free you in 15 minutes, is that a long enough head start?"

"I think so." Clarice said. "Thank you so much Angela. I'll make sure they know you had nothing to do with this insanity."

"Thanks." Angela replied. Her voice was hollow.

* * *

Clarice counted to 60 five times in her head before breaking free of her faux prison and stumbling into the woods. She feared Angela would hide the food and water in a difficult place, but saw her fears were unfounded as food and drink was resting beside a tree in plain sight for her. Two cups of water was filled to the top in a pair of ugly mugs- just the type you'd find in an airplane. She drank the water down immediately and decided to take the food with her.

Never in Clarice's life did she think she'd be so grateful for airline food. Well, it was more like airline snacks. Angela had graciously given her two packets of peanut butter and a child-sized bag of carrots.

Being hungry is quite painful, and although Clarice had grown up in what some people considered poverty, she had never gone more than a day without food. She felt sweet relief as she ate the peanut butter in less than 30 seconds, it tasted like sugar and cream and heaven. She promised herself if she was rescued she would always have a jar of peanut butter in her kitchen drawer forever to pull out and eat as much as she liked whenever she liked. The feeling of animals gnawing into her stomach dulled, and although she felt her meal had ended way too soon, it was enough food to make her comfortable for a while.

Now she felt more comfortable it would be easier for her to move and think. She made it a point not to run towards the lake, as that would be the most apparent path she would take if she-

"Hello Clarice." Hannibal Lecter greeted her. She had dodged a tree and he was standing there, waiting for her behind it.

"Fuck!" She said cursing as she jumped. They both were a reflex.

She heard what could only be described as a "tong" and fell forwards, her world spun like a toy top off-kilter. It took her a moment to realize he had hit her in the head. Hannibal didn't move as she reached out to stabilize herself; instead he allowed her fingers to slide over his white canvas straight jacket. She pawed his chest fighting to get a grip before slamming the ground and blacking out.

* * *

Clarice would have slept forever if her head didn't hurt so badly. The ache on the right side of her skull was pounding in time with her heartbeat, she wished she could slip back into her painless rest, but with every rhythmic throb she was convinced it would be impossible. He lifted her arm to rub the sore spot.

At least, that's what she wanted to do. She couldn't feel her arms. Cold terror is what snapped her out of her half-asleep state. She recollected the hazy memory of Hannibal Lecter knocking her out.

_Oh Jesus no- did he eat my arms!?_

Her heart did a triple beat as she opened her eyes to face her fate. Instead of stumps, she found her arms were in the straight jacket, they were tied and crossed tightly against her chest and had most likely fell asleep. She was wearing the pants she left behind, but her shoes had been removed and were missing from the various belongings in the shelter. Her socks were also gone.

Clarice wiggled her stiff fingers on both hands, wincing at how while mostly numb it was still uncomfortable it felt to move them. She couldn't sit up because Hannibal had tied her down by threading the arm sleeves and crotch strap through the branches that were the floor-boards of their lean-to. Something underneath the floor must have been tied to the jacket to anchor her.

Her right ankle was also tied down through the floor by a strip of canvas. She only had her left leg free, something that struck her as odd and disturbing. She grimly wondered what he had planned for that leg.

Smoke from the fire waived towards her, and she could see Hannibal Lecter turned away from her as he placed a wooden spit over the flames.

_"He doesn't know I'm awake yet."_ Clarice thought.

She really wanted time to herself to prepare herself before he mentally or physically assaulted her. Her one leg being free felt ominous, and her fear climbed as she recognized missing a limb would prove very effective against running away. What was it had said to her? 'If you turn into Agent Starling then he would be forced to turn into-"

This sort of thinking wouldn't help her. He had her, he could probably do whatever he wanted with her, that wasn't going to change. Now she had to make due with what she had. She wasn't gagged- so she could talk to him. That was something he valued, her conversations. Don't beg. Don't cry. Be genuine and honest, he always appreciated that.

She could try to seduce him. She felt sick at the thought and scrapped that idea. She didn't think he would be foolish enough to fall for something like that anyway. She recalled their first meeting where she had tactlessly suggested he take a survey, it was her first assignment from Jack Crawford and she desperately wanted to succeed in the task to impress him. Hannibal's response to her efforts was to unleash a string of personally tailored, hurtful insults to punish her for her ill attempt to manipulate him. She knew better than to try to sell him on emotions she didn't feel; in her attempt to seduce him, he would probably become offended... unless his obsession blinded him to such things. She doubted it though.

Hannibal was inspecting the spit. She couldn't make out if anything was tied to it, but she certainly didn't want to think about what he had in mind. He turned to face her and their eyes matched.

_Damn. Should have kept my eyes shut to give me more time. Game on, then._

He didn't look away as he walked slowly towards her, so calm and composed. She tried to match his blank expression as he stood over her, now just outside the shelter.

"Good evening." He said pleasantly.

"Evening, Doctor." She replied.

"I would like to invite you to have dinner with me. I hope you're hungry." He said turning his head briefly to check the fire.

"That's very kind of you." Clarice replied. "...What are you cooking, Doctor?"

"A little something I stumbled upon while hunting in the woods." He replied, his gaze drilling into hers. She unconsciously bit her lip, and fidgeted her free leg nervously. The slight movement of her leg was enough to catch his attention and he studied it before sweeping his gaze back to her. "I hope you don't have anything pressing in your schedule. It's rude to eat and run."

_"Puns Doctor?"_ She thought. _ "You really must have a night of torture planned for me."_

"You might want to hold off on dinner. That fire will probably attract some unwanted guests, could be dangerous." Clarice said.

"You don't have to be concerned about me, Clarice." He replied with a cool smile. "I'm very well prepared for extra guests, should they arrive uninvited. Speaking of, how did you enjoy your stay?"

"I found my gun." Clarice told him. She was unable to keep her anger out of her voice.

"Yes…so I heard." He replied. "I don't suppose when it went off it was a signal for help?"

"No, Eric shot Chavez." Clarice said. Her lip curled in disgust. "You gave him my firearm. I consider you indirectly responsible for his death."

"That's rather unfair. Doesn't the FBI enforce 'Innocent until proven guilty'?" He asked.

"Do you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with giving that aggressive idiot my gun?" Clarice growled.

"I'm sorry Clarice, but I don't feel comfortable answering that question without my lawyer present." He said.

It hurt when he suggested she was straying from her duties as an FBI agent, as well as when he made it clear her devotion had no power over anyone or anything on the island other than her pride. Clarice felt her chest tighten; she hated how badly she wanted to cry. The pounding in her head where he had hit her also added to her frustration.

"What are you going to do to me?" She asked. She was at his mercy and they both knew it.

"Pardon? Do you no longer hold faith in your comrades? They are rushing to your rescue, correct?" He said looking over his shoulder with fake concern.

She was beginning to choke up; she closed her eyes and mentally pictured herself pushing down her despair. The only thing she could have imagined worse than kissing Hannibal Lecter and liking it was crying in front of him.

"Clarice," he sang. "Am I getting the silent treatment now?"

"I don't know what to do anymore." She admitted.

"Feeling lost? Like a career soldier without a war?" He asked amused. "Are you asking for my guidance?"

"I don't know. Maybe." She replied, defeated. "Are you going to eat me?"

"I don't know. Maybe." He mimicked her using a thick southern accent. "Oh Clarice, don't look so wounded. I believe you really are about to cry."

She turned her head away from him, and thought about all the things that made her angry.

"Allow me to offer you some comfort."

"...How?" She asked.

"By helping you make up your mind." He said, sitting next to her. "I noticed you have a rather particular sunburn; I've been in that contraption enough times to recognize the length of the restraint cuffs on the wrists. They strapped you into it and risked your skin to sun-stroke, didn't they? Your noblest efforts to save them from me was woefully rejected, correct? You needed try to speak, I understand you're trying to get a grip on your emotions, just nod your head 'yes' or 'no'."

She nodded yes.

"That 'aggressive idiot' Eric Johnson has established himself as the final authority of his brood, you are an outsider and a threat to stability. You further upset the hornets nest by flaunting your malcontent for his methods of keeping order." He said. "Your good intentions couldn't save you from his bad ones, and I find it unlikely that he'll welcome you back, at least, not without jumping through hoops to prove you're trustworthy. I think it's safe to assume your lost lambs are more a pack of wolves."

"Agreed." She replied.

"And so you are forced to contend with me." He said placing a hand on her unbound leg. "I had been so loyal to you, Clarice. If there is anyone on this whole island as disappointed as you, it's me. I thought our partnership was blossoming into something special- a modern day Adam and Eve."

"You attacked me!" She accused turning her head to him.

"I kissed you." He replied. "And you enjoyed it."

"You tried to grab me." She snapped, ignoring his taunt.

"Perhaps I just wanted you closer."

"Maybe I don't want you to touch me." She said shifting her leg, trying to jerk his hand off it. "You chased me!"

"Of course I did. I didn't want you to get hurt or lost, or stumble upon the other camp. Those people are barbarians, you know." He smiled showing her a row of his white teeth.

"Well you have me now, so what are you going to do to me?" She said. "Eat me? Kill me?"

"Perhaps later." He mused. She lifted her leg to kick him but he leaned his elbow heavily on it, pinning her completely down. "Actually, you will be thrilled to hear I'm willing to extend our treaty…but under different circumstances." He said resting his chin on the arm pinning her down. "No more freebies Clarice, I've been extraordinarily generous and you've been all too willing to take advantage of that. You're going to have to meet me half-way now, we've played this game before- you remember... quid pro quo..."

"And what is it you want from me?" Clarice scowled.

"I'll leave that up to you." He replied. "Use your imagination, I'm certain you can come up with _something_…"

He let the sentence hang in the air. Clarice stopped struggling and felt rage bubble inside her.

"That- that's never going to-" she sputtered angrily.

"No," He snapped, clearly annoyed. "I am not suggesting you sell your body to me like some two-bit whore. Honestly Clarice."

She felt her face burning.

"...You can give me yourself on your own free will." He said with an odd expression she couldn't quite discern. He wasn't mocking her, she could tell he was thinking. "So do you accept my proposal? I hope you'll honor our partnership much better than before. Consider this your last chance, I won't extend my good will towards you again."

"Yes, untie me." Clarice said. "Please." She added.

"Do you enjoyed being incapacitated?" He said with a smile removing his arm from her leg. "There is a whole fetishistic subculture devoted to damsels like yourself being helplessly bound, awaiting a hero who may or may never come. It was a common theme in pulp fiction novels. I never cared much for being constricted myself, but I am starting to appreciate the visual appeal. Admittedly I couldn't help but create a signature of my own."

"Is this your signature?" She asked lifting her leg.

"Yes. I think it draws more attention to your desperate state. Were you wondering why I didn't tie it down? My inspiration was Manet's _Olympia_. It is a portrait of a reclining nude, her sexuality is magnified as she dangles her slipper off her left foot, increasing the viewers awareness of her nakedness."

"That's fascinating Doctor. I'm not much an art critic…anyway…I would like to be untied." Clarice requested.

"You're not going to make a fool out of me, are you Clarice?" He asked, his eyes glittering. "I would be very angry if you tried to run."

"No Doctor, I won't run." Clarice promised him. She hadn't really planned on running away, she was just so relieved he wasn't going to eat her. Or kill her. Or fuck her. Or all three.

"Good girl." He replied.

* * *

**Authors Note: I had some major writers block because I have two possible plot lines I've been thinking about. I'll have to choose in my next chapter which one to use.**

**You ladies and/or gents seriously write the best reviews. Some of you have me cracking up (Your "all good things to those who wait" comment wasn't lost on me, M3S1C101) **

**Time Reviewer, you asked me an excellent question about how I imagine Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling to look. Most of my fan fic is centered around the few and juicy interactions between Clarice and Hannibal in the movie version of Silence of the Lambs- however- I believe a lot of people have their own version of how the characters look physically and I have purposely left out detailed physical descriptions of Clarice and Hannibal for that reason. **

**(For example, Hannibal in the movie as Anthony Hopkins has blue eyes. I write Hannibal in my fic to have a "piercing gaze", but don't mention color because in the books Hannibal has some strange maroon color.) I don't want to shatter whatever mental image my readers have of their version of Hannibal or Clarice, I just enjoy enhancing their imagination with my silly stories. **

**For me, and this is just my Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling, I like how Anthony Hopkins looks and speaks as Hannibal in Silence of the Lambs, and I physically picture Julianne Moore as my Clarice Starling, but find Jodie Foster's mannerisms more interesting and less "stiff". I have an in-between personality morphing Jodie Foster's noble-yet-naive outlook on life and Julianne Moore's steely determination to hold onto what is good in her soul, even if it destroys her. The mix is satisfying to me.**

**Anyway, I'll try to get some good stuff rolling in the next chapter. Thank you awesome readers and reviewers!**


	5. Chapter 5

Clarice shook her arms and flexed her fingers to get the blood moving through them once she had been freed from the straight jacket. It had been a tedious process untying her, Hannibal Lecter had taken great lengths to ensure that she would never break free without assistance.

He watched her like a hawk, his eyes unblinking, as she stood on the ground in her bare feet. Clarice wondered what he would do if she started running. It would be funny to see his face- if he reacted at all- before he hunted her down and killed her. She decided to keep her joke-fantasy to herself for obvious reasons.

"Where did you put my shoes?" Clarice asked flexing her toes on the sand. "You didn't give them to Eric, did you?"

"Consider it insurance- for me." He replied, the joke lost on him. "It will help you see the value of earning my trust back."

_"Great." _Clarice thought. The mental image of Eric running around with _her_ shoes on, waving _her_ gun around popped into her head, and it made her want to scream.

"Why the long face? Clarice, you've always responded so well to challenges to prove yourself, don't tell me you're discouraged… are you really so untrustworthy?" He asked with a smirk.

"Can you get me out of this?" She said holding out her arms. She was in a bad mood and he was making it worse. "It's really hot and it smells like sweat."

"Certainly." He replied. "I think we should boil our clothes soon or they'll rot off of us."

"I could do it." She offered. "You know…as payback."

"How thoughtful." He replied. She couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

"How can you stand being in this thing?" She asked him as he removed it off her shoulders. "I think this jacket alone would make me go crazy."

"It's very unpleasant," he admitted. "They did not create them for comfort."

She heard a rustling in the trees and scanned the area, standing still and at attention like a football player before the snap. After a few tense seconds it became clear that nothing was approaching them. She relaxed and as she turned towards Hannibal she saw him glaring at her.

"I wasn't going to run." She informed him, fear starting to grip her. "I just thought...if Eric..."

"Of course." He replied. There was a warning in his voice that couldn't be mistaken.

"You gave him the gun, don't even act like me being scared about that is _my_ fault." She snapped at him.

"I didn't give him the gun," He replied mocking her accent. "I gave the gun to Chavez…your detective skills are rusty. Did the FBI promote you to a desk?"

"Shut up." Clarice replied, miserable. She was so tired of him using the FBI and her accent to get under her skin. "So what happens now?"

He blinked at her. It felt very pointed because she didn't see him do it often.

"I'm sorry for telling you to shut up." She sighed, after figuring out his reason for silence. "That was rude of me."

"Yes." He agreed.

"I'm sorry." She repeated, trying to appear more humble. "I'm having a bit of a tough day. A tough couple of days, actually."

His gaze lingered before he turned back towards the fire.

"I made dinner." He replied.

"Oh...I thought..."

…_That talk about dinner was just tough-talk, that you were threatening to eat me._ She decided that she really didn't want to tell him that. In response to her incomplete thought he leaned forward, raising his eyebrows.

"Pardon me…were you finished speaking?" He asked her.

"Yeah, I'm think done." Clarice groaned, running her hand over her face. The gesture hurt her nose; she knew she was really going to feel her sunburn later.

"Then please excuse me." He said dismissing himself.

Once more Clarice felt defeated. She decided the island was the source of some dark voodoo. It had the power to stick its murky fingers in everyone's minds and mix things up- only Hannibal Lecter was immune to its power, which he cunningly was able to manipulate for his own evil deeds. He was now harnessing its black magic to make her grateful for having dinner with her kidnapper.

Absolutely nothing was right about anything that happened here. Clarice didn't think there was much that could happen to make things worse. Unless...

_If he comes back with a bowl of insects I'm going to drown myself in the ocean._

He brought over the teapot and the pitcher and placed it next to her before returning to the fire. She realized as he got closer that the spit did have something tied to it. What she mistook for a thick branch was actually a hunk of meat now burned black; it was two feet long and plump. He was carrying it on a sheet of airplane metal, like a tray and settled it on their laps as he sat close to her.

"What is that?" Clarice asked.

"It is a boidae. A boa."

"You killed a snake?" She said amazed. He ripped off a hunk of meat with his hands and saw he was careful not to pick up any of the bone.

"Yes." He replied, elongating the 's'.

"How?"

"The Biblical principles still apply, you strike the head." He said. "Killing is not very difficult, Clarice."

She looked at the burnt snake and suddenly felt very sorry for it. It was just another one of his victims.

"I assure you, he did not beg for mercy while I killed him." He said, amused.

She felt a little silly for her momentary lapse of pity. Even her father had killed snakes; it had never disturbed her before.

"Just dig in, huh?" she said ripping a part of meat off.

"Be cautious, its bones are fragile and I think we can use them." He replied.

They ate in silence. It was somewhat bland, but as far as meat went it tasted pretty good. She ate until she was full, and then a little more just in case it was her last decent meal for a while. He ate more than her, and when they were no longer hungry he was left with cleaning whatever the meat was still off the bones. She watched him work in silence.

"You shaved." She said, noticing his smooth cheeks.

"It is a habit of mine to look presentable for dinner."

It struck her how vain he could be. She remembered the razors they had found in the beginning of the crisis, surely there was a more practical use for them. If they never were rescued, would he shave until the razors were gone?

The moon was starting to come out. The island had a funny way of getting dark fast.

"Do you think we'll ever be rescued?" She asked looking at the moon.

"It's hard to say." He replied. "Our chances of surviving the crash were astronomically small. It was a miracle we weren't thrown into the ocean, if you believe in miracles."

"They try really hard to find people after a crash, don't they?" She replied. "It's always in the papers. They look for weeks before giving up."

"Yes, they always make an effort." He replied. "In the papers."

"Well we're kinda famous so they'll try harder, right?" Clarice insisted.

"I'm the wrong kind of famous, Clarice." He replied.

"I think they'll find us, eventually." She said.

"Wouldn't that be wonderful." He replied stoically.

"I would tell them everything, especially how you saved my life." She insisted.

"Yes…I'm certain they'd be very grateful." He replied dryly.

"And then I'd tell them how you took my shoes and kept me prisoner to wash your clothes and eat bugs." She replied.

"Then it'd be the rack for me." He replied. "We should keep the carcass somewhat far from our camp…I have no desire to wake up to any scavengers looking for an easy meal, no matter how small."

"You're the expert." She sighed.

* * *

It was a noisy night. She felt like she was sitting next to one thousand crickets.

"Shut up!" She snapped. A few crickets dropped out of the chorus before returning again, just as loud as before.

She really thought Eric would burst through the woods any moment, waving the gun and blowing their brains out, but there hadn't been any sign of him. Maybe he didn't think she was worth the effort. Or maybe he was hoping Hannibal would eat her and save him the trouble.

She saw Hannibal dump more wood on the fire before joining her.

"It's a full moon." She said pointing to the sky. "We should watch out for werewolves I guess. They say crazy things happen under a full moon."

"We're safe from werewolves for now, that is a waxing gibbous moon." He replied. He handed her the over-sized dress shirt and began to change into his own.

She really didn't want to wear the nightshirt, she wanted to keep her pants on in case Eric attacked them in the middle of the night, but if she kept them on Hannibal might ask her uncomfortable questions about it.

"The waxing gibbous moon happens when the moon is between a 45 and 90 degree angle with respect to the Earth and Sun. So we are seeing more than half of the moon illuminated and less than half in shadow. The word gibbous refers to phases where the moon is more than half illuminated. "Waxing" essentially means growing or increasing in illumination. Each evening, as the moon's orbital motion carries it towards the Earth-sun line, we see more of the moon's day side." He explained.

"Can I ask you a question?" Clarice said after getting changed.

He turned to her, his eyebrows raised and his hands folded in his lap, she recognized it was his signal that he was listening.

"How do you know everything about everything?" Clarice said. She realized that her comment would probably inflate his ego through the roof, but she was generally curious how anyone could retain so much information and recall it so effortlessly.

"I certainly know a lot, but not 'everything', Clarice." He replied with a small smile. He was definitely pleased with her sincere curiosity. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just that every time something comes up, you always know so much about it." She replied.

"I read a lot. It is a byproduct of my intellectual curiosity."

"Hey, I have an idea, want to play a game?" Clarice asked. "I give you a subject...on anything, and you have to tell me what you know about it."

"Sounds challenging." He replied. He didn't seem intimidated at all.

Clarice really wanted to stump him. What was it that she would know that he wouldn't? He would, of course, be very well-versed in history, all things medical, food and art. She knew he read the newspaper, so current events was also out of the question. He would probably be very knowledgeable on biology or anything scientific. That left very few things…she would have to come up with subjects he would find inane if not boring; subjects that were 'below' him.

"Green eggs and ham." She said smiling.

"Hmmm..." He hummed.

_That's right, you just sit there thinking. You don't know anything about green eggs and ham._

"'Green Eggs and Ham' is the title of a children's book, written by Theodor Seuss Geisel, more commonly known as his pen name 'Dr. Seuss'. In the story a creature that goes by the name Sam-I-Am offers the other character a meal of 'green eggs and ham'. The un-named character insists throughout the book he does not like or want green eggs and ham, until the end where he discovers he does, in fact, really enjoy it." Hannibal said.

Clarice didn't know why she felt so uncomfortable with his answer. Perhaps it was the way he was looking at her when he replied.

"Disney World." She shot, trying to change the subject as soon as possible.

"Forgive me for saying this, Clarice, but I find your subjects rather infantile."

"If you don't know anything about Disney World, Doctor, just say so." She said with smug grin.

"Technically it is 'Walt Disney World'... you knew that, right?" He teased her.

"Yeah, I knew that." She replied, the smile from her face gone. She could tell already she would have to come up with something more obscure to stump him.

"The Walt Disney World Resort is an entertainment complex that opened 1971, in Lake Buena Vista, Florida. Its conception was created by Walter Disney and is owned by The Walt Disney Company. Magic Kingdom is the original theme park on the complex, while Epcot, Disney's Hollywood Studios, and Disney's Animal Kingdom opened throughout the 1980s and 1990s."

"Alright brainiac… how about Metallica!" She laughed. "Tell me everything you know about Metallica. Which isn't much, I'm betting."

"Metallica is a 'heavy metal' band formed in Los Angeles, California, in late 1981-"

"Woah, woah- stop right there- wait a minute- no! How the hell do _you _know about Metallica?" Clarice interrupted him.

"…It was a commendable effort, Clarice." He said. "Do you remember Dr. Chilton's gospel programs? Televangelists often harp on the evils of pop-culture. While I have never listened to a Metallica song through, I do remain skeptical that played backwards the lyrics proclaim Satan as my master."

_God damn it. He really does know everything._

"Alright," Clarice said defeated. "How about me? Tell me something about myself. And be nice!" She demanded, shooting him a stern look.

He lifted an eyebrow, highly amused.

"Ah...Clarice Starling." He said softly with a wide smile. "She is madly in love with me, but can't to admit it to herself."

"Madly in love with you?" Clarice repeated, rolling her eyes. "That is so cheesy. And wrong. I'm going to count this one as a strike."

"I figured you would." He goaded her.

"In your dreams." She laughed.

He didn't reply but still kept his amused smile.

"What about you? Tell me something I don't know about you." She asked.

"You know everything about me, I'm afraid." He replied.

"What?" Clarice said. "Come on, don't be like that. It's just you and me out here. It doesn't have to be bad, just tell me something no one knows."

"I'm currently stranded on this island." He said. "That seems to be something most people don't know, judging from our predicament."

"You're being a poor sport." Clarice replied. "Quid pro quo. Surprise me, tell me something… like, you broke your arm falling off your bike, or that you can lick your elbow, or you have a funny uncle."

"Your imagination makes me much more interesting than I really am." He replied.

"You expect me to believe that?" Clarice almost sulked.

"Why not?" He asked dismissively.

"Because nothing about you is boring or ordinary." She accused.

His elusive smile grew and took his usual place lying down next to her.

"Stop trying to be mysterious. I'll let you ask me something if it makes you feel better." Clarice said.

"You're very persistent." He replied.

"Yes I am."

"You've changed the rules of your game." He said.

"It's my game, so I can change it." Clarice said. "Tell me something about yourself. Something that would shock people."

"Very well..." He said. "I love you, Clarice."

_FUCK._

_Well._

_Oh my God._

_What the hell._

He really could have said anything, anything at all, and that would have been less shocking. Clarice felt as if her heart turned to water and she was choking. What the hell was she supposed to say to that?

"Is it my turn?" Hannibal asked.

Clarice was having a really hard time concentrating.

"What?" she said, her voice sounding stressed.

"Are you not enjoying our game? You look upset."

"I'm not upset." She replied. It was pretty apparent she was upset.

"I don't believe you." He replied.

"I think I'm going to go to bed." Clarice said.

"We're in bed."

"I meant I'm going to sleep." She explained.

"You shouldn't go to sleep upset, you'll get nightmares." He said. "I know what would make you feel better…let's play a new game." He suggested. "You kiss me, and I'll kiss you. What do you say, Clarice? It's just you and me out here... I promise not to tell a soul."

Somehow, in the span of four seconds, she was attacked by the jitters worse than any caffeine overdose she suffered at the academy.

"Pinky swear." He sang. "It'll be a fun way to pass the time. You'll finally be able to admit to yourself if you have feelings for me...or not. Either way, it's just a game, if you accept I won't treat you any differently."

"I...what are you talking about?" Clarice said. Her brain felt numb.

"It's a waxing gibbous moon Clarice," he said. "Crazier things have happened under it."

"I don't understand what you're trying to do but-"

"...Just kiss me Clarice." He said.

_Just do it._

He must have seen how uncomfortable his gaze was, because he closed his eyes. As the long seconds passed she realized it looked like asleep, he was so still.

Her heart was thumping out of her chest as she leaned on him; he still had his eyes closed. It was as if the world was giving her what she desired free from prying eyes, there was no judgment anywhere to be found, not even from Hannibal Lecter. She was granted privacy. Here she could indulge without consequence.

She knew she was going to, and she knew she would hate herself later, but she also knew she wanted to. This was as appealing and acceptable as her desire for him was going to get.

Her hands were shaking slightly as she moved her hair out of her face. She licked her lips and felt them soften. She stupidly wondered where she should place her hands, she felt hyper-conscious about her body. Was she taking too much time? What was he thinking?

She took a steadying breath; he still hadn't opened his eyes.

_I can't believe I'm doing this._

She leaned close to him, careful not to let her hair tickle his face and bent down to kiss his lips. They were soft and warm, like she had remembered. He didn't kiss her back until she had kissed him twice. She felt the dizzying effects of pleasure exploding in the pit of her stomach as he began to slowly respond, like he waking out of a dream.

After a few slow kisses he began sucking on her bottom lip, causing the pleasure that was settling in her stomach to travel downwards. He swiped his tongue across her lip, keeping steady pressure on it as he sucked.

Clarice had made out with boys before, of course, but she now knew she was indulging more in a ritual than a pleasure. She was amazed how sexual the experience could be. It was unsurprising that the man who knew everything from moons to Metallica could teach her something about love-making.

He was starting to direct the make-out session. He had let go of her bottom lip and was now running his tongue over the top with equal precision. He began to kiss her deeply, inhaling powerfully as she allowed him to explore her mouth.

She wondered if he could smell the scent of sex on her. Perhaps that's what spurred him into action as his hands slid around her waist, and tugged her into lying on top of him. She didn't realize her arms were tired from holding herself up until she rested them on him.

She felt his erection poking into her hip. Her self-control was waning; she knew she could easily be persuaded into having sex with him if he made any sort of push in that direction. She couldn't let that happen.

Her mind was racing. She had left men frustrated before, but it never felt like this. She was never as into them as they were into her. It had been easy to say no, and every time she had halted things they had often accused her of being a frigid bitch. She knew, somehow, that Hannibal wouldn't think that way of her. It made her all the more regretful.

He began to slowly grind against her. At first she thought she had put too much weight on him and he was repositioning himself, but he laid a gentle yet firm hand on her rear to steady her as he squirmed against her.

_God he's so smart._ Clarice thought as he pushed against her. _He knows I don't want to have sex with him._

He was pushing her pelvis down, putting pressure on her vagina against the shaft of his penis. She understood that he wasn't masturbating to her, but with her. The material between them felt thin, it had become soaked through by her excitement.

She felt their mutual climax building, like a pulse he throbbed against her, strong and steady.

She had never had an orgasm come so easily. Usually it was slow and a bit of an effort. When the urge hit she would usually need to devote a good hour or so to getting off.

Not so with Hannibal Lecter. Her breath hitched and the delicious pressure against her further coxed a blossoming orgasm as his shaft rubbed against her. She could hear his breathing coming out more ragged, and his heartbeat quickened as she pressed against him. His excitement become her excitement, the idea that this dangerous man was getting pleasure from her body and had chose her for sexual fulfillment made her feel so powerful.

It grew inside her and slammed her like a wave; she let out an auditory groan of satisfaction. He let out a guttural growl like an animal, which would have scared her if she didn't find it so arousing.

She was out of breath, despite feeling like she did none of the work. She dropped her head on his shoulder, feeling the pace of his heartbeat slow back to normal.

"_What the fuck is wrong with me?_" She thought as she felt him brush her hair away from her face. "_Oh God, what the fuck have you done Clarice?_ _This was a mistake… like I knew it would be._"

"I…I didn't mean to." Clarice said rolling off him. She couldn't look at him. "That's not what I wanted."

"I know." He replied. "No one needs to know."

"This…doesn't change anything."

"It's already forgotten." He said. "It never happened."

"Thank you." She replied turning away from him. She was aware how wet her underwear was and wanted to take it off, but didn't dare remove them.

"I do so like green eggs and ham...Thank you, thank you, Sam-I-am..." She heard him say softly.

She thought she would die from the crushing guilt and shame.

* * *

**Authors Note: Yes, finally some "M" stuff. I thought Chapter 5 would need to usher some of that in. I was beginning to feel like the story wasn't earning it's M-rating. **

**Poor Clarice. I realize that I torment her so much.**


	6. Chapter 6

Clarice gave up on trying to sleep an hour ago. As soon as she felt calm enough to drift to sleep the horror of her self-betrayal would slam her awake. She had vastly under-estimated how much she regretted giving into her lust for Hannibal Lecter, the consequences was a restless night and the worst guilt-trip she'd ever suffered.

Her shame kept her awake and made her feel jittery while tired. He had made it so easy for her to depend on him and she allowed him to corrupt her. Her mind gave her millions of reasons why it was her fault, and why it wasn't her fault.

_Why was she freaking out? They hadn't had sex._

_She had gone farther with Brian Olsen in 12th grade._

_Everyone makes mistakes._

_She wouldn't be the first woman to do sexual things with a guy and regret it._

_He said he would forget it, so there was no use dwelling on it. She could forget about it and move on._

And the cruel voice in the back of her mind would always respond with the same answer: _True...but you chose Hannibal Lecter._

This emotional roller coaster had frustrated her so much she abandoned her 'bed' and went to the fire-pit to cry. She didn't wipe her tears from her face because her sunburn had made her skin sensitive to touch.

As she sat near the dwindling fire she contemplated where she had gone wrong.

She had treated his flirtations like a joke and had insisted to herself, and to him, that his advances were harmless. That was her first mistake- not taking him seriously. Somehow his suggestions for her attraction towards him had taken hold, and once they had he had given her an opportunity to act on them free of judgment. She had erroneously believed that their isolation would shield her from consequences. He had even suggested to her it was "a game"… as if they were two little kids playing doctor.

It would be easy for her to blame everything on him, but she had known exactly what she was doing. And even worse, she loved it. They might have been kissing and dry humping, but it was incredibly intimate and exciting.

"Ugh." She sighed.

She had gone full-circle in her head again. Her nose was stuffy from crying. What she really needed was someone to talk to- someone like Ardelia. Her sinuses became clogged even more at the thought of never hashing out her feelings with Ardelia again. In the few times she'd had boy trouble, Ardelia had a talent for clearing Clarice's head.

After a couple more silent moments she wandered back to the lean-to. Her crying had been enough to wear her out, and she was going to give it another try to fall asleep.

Her bedmate, Hannibal, was asleep and on his back, however he didn't look restful. His brows were furrowed and he looked angry, but he was definitely asleep. She saw his eyes shifting quickly under his eyelids; Clarice had read that was a signal of REM sleep, a deep and vivid dreamful sleep.

"Mischa." He hissed harshly, yet quietly, with his teeth barred. His fingernails had scratched through a palm-frond and into their branch flooring. She could see little slivers of bark under his nails and beside his hands. Whatever he was dreaming of had taken hold of him and was breaking through the silent night.

She hoped he didn't grab her or scratch her while she lay next to him. Maybe he was dreaming of one of his victims. After imagining him run down some poor, defenseless civilian she realized she was very tired of thinking about him general, and opted to ignore him completely as she turned her back to him and struggled to fall asleep. Thankfully her mind gave her a break and for a blessed moment she was able to dream.

* * *

"Good morning."

Hannibal Lecter was standing over her, clothed in his nightshirt. She hoped she would have felt better rested when the sun came up, but her guilty conscience had stolen a lot of sleeping time from her. Her eyes felt as if weights were attached to them, she knew if she closed them for longer then an instant she'd fall back asleep.

"Yes?" she moaned.

"I said 'good morning', though it won't be for long. Get up, Clarice, you have work to do." He said. "I'm loath to think you'd willingly shirk your responsibilities."

"Alright, give me-"

She almost screamed when he dumped their dirty, sweaty clothes on her sunburned body. She quickly shoved them off at her feet, and she sat up, glaring at him.

"You should wash your underwear." He reminded her. The comment startled her and he winked, clearly reveling in her discomfort before leaving her.

The wad of clothes were bunched up, and she saw his underwear was in the pile. He was right that she needed to wash her underclothes; she had worn them for far too long.

She saw him moving about, out of the sun under the shade of a tree. In front of him were three sticks, which he picked up one-by-one to inspect. One of them seemed to satisfy his eccentric desires, and he held up his arm straight out before measuring the stick under his armpit. She knew whatever he was doing was serving some higher purpose, as everything he did and chose not to be concerned for his strange behavior.

"Right. The task at hand, laundry." She said to herself, tearing herself away from Hannibal Lecter.

He had mentioned boiling their clothes, and she saw that the teakettle was indeed placed under their fire. Tentatively she stuck a hand out of the shade of the lean-to and grunted in pain. Her sunburn had finally turned unforgiving. Gently she prodded her thighs, hands and face and discovered the skin felt hot. In the sun it felt like it was on fire.

Clarice rolled down the cuffs of her shirt to cover her hands. She was just going to have to bear the pain.

_I told him I'd do the laundry, and by God, that's what I'm going to do. _

It was the only task she had set herself to completing, and she knew Hannibal would hold her to her word. She slipped her underwear off and bra and added it to the pile.

She stepped out of the shade and carried a wad of underclothes from the pile. The sand was uncomfortably hot but it didn't burn as much as the sun on her face. She inspected the exposed parts of her skin; she was a light pink rose color- her burns could have been much, much worse, and it would have been if Angela hadn't set her free.

Cradling the clothes in her arms like a baby, she thought how best to clean them. She had always used a washing machine, and her domestic skills were pretty linear. She thought of how someone would clean clothes with only hot water; Hannibal had given her the hint of boiling them. She turned her head towards him and saw he was sitting cross-legged in the sand, his eyes glazed over in thought and his lips moving occasionally without any sound.

He was preoccupied with something in his mind.

She slid the tea kettle off the spit lifted the lid. There was no way their clothes were going to fit in the kettle.

"I have no idea what the hell I'm doing." She admitted to herself out loud, frustration taking over. She didn't want to waste the water, and she felt too hot and miserable in the sun to stand there and think six-ways-to-Sunday how to clean their clothes.

She hesitated. She could stand there like an idiot, her sunburn getting worse, or just ask how best to do the laundry. It was unreasonable for him to expect her to know how to do it. Hell, she barely did it at home, she often paid Ardelia off with dinner to do the wash.

She dropped the little bundle of clothes and wandered over to him.

"Doctor Lecter," she called him as she approached. His eyes were still unfocused and she waited patiently to see if he had heard her. After a few seconds his gaze shifted and he looked up at her expectedly. "I need help." She admitted.

She felt embarrassed as he allowed her admission to linger.

"Okay." He replied with a slight edge as he clasped his hands together briefly. Her embarrassment increased ten-fold. She felt his resentment for being disturbed.

"I'm sorry for interrupting, I just don't want to waste time and effort doing it wrong." She explained. "I just need a little guidance and after that I'll be good."

"Odd you would come to me for guidance to find a serial killer with the same desperation and confusion of how to clean clothes."

_Ouch. _

He was making her feel incredibly stupid.

"How do you suppose a washing machine works?" He asked her.

"I don't know Doctor, we aren't stuck on Gilligan's Island. I can't just make one out of bamboo." She snapped.

She watched his focus dull as he took a deep breath in and released it in an exasperated hiss. Obviously her response was not appreciated.

"How do you suppose a washing machine works?" He asked again, this time not looking at her.

"…You put your clothes in a tub, put in soap, the machine fills up with water, the clothes are washed, then the water drained. Then the clothes are rinsed, and the machine drains the water again."

"That is more or less how a top-loading washing machine works." He replied.

"We only have hot water." Clarice replied. "And a tea kettle."

"True." He replied. "So we must wash our clothes to the best of our ability."

"And that's why I'm here, asking you how." She said putting her hands on her hips.

"Try pouring the hot water on the clothes, concentrating on trouble-spots like the pits of our shirts." He replied. "The fabric moving in the tub does help dislodge dirt. To simulate that movement scrub the cloth against something- you can use your hands but scrubbing against a rock would be easier. Be sure to wring out the clothes before hanging them up. Hang them directly in the sun."

"Thank you." She replied.

He didn't respond. She could see he had already left her.

* * *

_No wonder everyone back then was filthy._

She had done as Hannibal had instructed and had moderate success. She thought it would take two hours to complete their wash- tops. It had taken at least twice as long, judging from the position of the sun. They didn't even have a lot of clothes.

Hannibal was sitting in the lean-to, scratching a snake-bone with a rock to hone a spike she assumed would go into the branch he had picked out earlier that morning. She brought his clean-ish clothes over to him once they had dried enough in the sun. She had already changed into hers.

"Just put them down, please." He said without looking up at her as she tried to hand them to him.

He had pretty much ignored her all day. Part of her was relieved not to be the focus of his attention, but she felt a little depressed he was occupying himself and she was largely isolated. After spending all night and all day talking to herself, she wanted to have a conversation.

She reflected how little he'd shared about himself. Even in the bureau there was little history of him, whatever they knew was usually clinical- or criminal- he had either destroyed his past or it was too mundane to gather into a file. Dr. Chilton had placed him under intense surveillance and hadn't learned a damn thing about him, not really. She realized Chilton would have mentioned a "Mischa" somewhere in Hannibal's file if he had been saying it in his sleep.

"Who's Mischa?" Clarice asked.

He dropped the snake-bone and the stone. A sound escaped his lips, between a scream and a hiss. His eyes, which were normally blank or clever, now betrayed a different emotion. She saw fear and agony in them, something she had never witnessed from him, and it shocked her cold.

They were sitting close to each other, and like their fire that budded from embers into flame Clarice watched with mounting terror as his pain turned to rage. His adam's apple shifted as if he was being strangled by it.

She had found it. My lord, she had found it- by _mistake_. The preverbal chink in his armor, the monster's monster, the nightmare's night terror, she had discovered his Achilles heel.

When she had spoke 'Mischa', it had hit him directly in the heart. She was witnessing the blow and saw his naked sorrow bleeding out of him in a waterfall of rare emotions. They were in mutual shock how quickly the name had made him vulnerable, and it enraged him. She saw him tense up like a wounded tiger.

"I'm sorry." She said shaking her head.

She had meant her apology, but it struck her as frighteningly idiotic. 'I'm sorry' just wasn't sufficient; it was a phrase shared by little kids when they spilled their milk at the dinner table. It couldn't measure up to her regret for stumbling on a highly private trauma Hannibal Lecter had fiercely fought to hide away from the world.

"Do you want to know about Mischa?" He asked, his tone raspy and cruel. There was a mirthless, sarcastic smile tightening into a scowl.

"No!" She gasped. She shook her head again and clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

"Don't ask again." He replied, his teeth together.

"I won't." She promised. "I swear." Her words had little effect on his rage. "I swear." She gasped again, trying to reassure him that she would bury the name and never repeat it.

He swallowed thickly, picking up the bone and rock again. She quickly got up and left him, leaving him to his dark past. Whatever happened to Mischa it had been terrible for him.

* * *

Clarice was hugging her knees, waiting for the water she boiled to cool down so she could drink it. She felt parched, and weak, and tired. She had spent much of the day relaxing and staying out of the sun, but she was hungry again and bored.

Hannibal hadn't talked to her since their awkward and frightening interaction. Instead he worked silently on his spear, only taking small breaks to drink or to stare at the sea with a vacant expression.

They were now sitting in the lean-to, and Clarice was contemplating striking up another conversation. She was going to ask him if he had any fishing tips to give her- but was saved the trouble of breaking their silence by a high-pitched scream.

"Uh-oh." Hannibal said raising his eyebrows. He looked alarmed- a dramatic flourish for her- before smiling maniacally.

Clarice was on full alert, standing to her feet.

"Your shoes are under the shelter." Hannibal informed her before running off into the woods.

Clarice felt slightly angry that he hadn't even chose to hide her shoes in a good spot, and even angrier she didn't search for them.

_I totally could have found those._

She dropped on her stomach and slid under the shelf of their "floor". Her shoes were placed neatly in the middle of the lean-to. She had to crawl under the shelter to reach them. She could still hear the cries of pain through the floor-branches. The agony in the voice jolted her into action and she snatched her shoes, and rolled from under the lean-to into the open. Quickly she put on her shoes and began to run towards the voice.

She could see Hannibal's white shirt shining through the brush, like a flag of surrender. He was completely still, as if he was part of the environment. Clarice sprinted towards him, her hands clenched in fists.

She prepared herself for a visual shock- no one screaming like that could be okay.

Despite her internal warning, her stomach roiled when she came upon the scene.

Sharpened sticks in four-foot deep pit pierced through Marcus' calves and feet. He was holding himself up on his hands, trying to dislodge himself from the bloody trap. He was shirtless, and Clarice saw he had smeared mud on his chest and the exposed part of his skin as camouflage.

"Hello there." Hannibal greeted him.

"You-" Marcus snarled looking past Hannibal and at Clarice. "YOU BITCH!" He shouted viciously, spit flying from his mouth.

"What were you doing? Spying on us?" Hannibal asked pleasantly.

"You planned this- didn't you!" Marcus spat, Clarice could see he was trying to be threatening but his tears and quivering voice betrayed his fear.

Marcus' anger waned and turned to panic when Hannibal withdrew the pocketknife.

"No!" Clarice shouted.

Hannibal turned to her to say something. She punched him in side of his face hard enough to hurt her own hand and saw him stumble, the knife still in his hand.

Marcus choked in pain, trying to push himself off the spikes.

"Calm down, Marcus." She said, one hand held out towards him. Hannibal didn't even rub the side of his face that was struck as he straightened. "Just hang in there."

Marcus was beyond listening and was cursing her and Hannibal as he trembled.

"Marcus is going to die, Clarice. There's no one here that is going to be able to repair the wounds he's suffering. I suspect they're already infected." Hannibal told her.

"Oh God, oh God," Marcus groaned. "I don't want to die here."

"That's not going to happen." Clarice said. "Help me get him out!" She shouted at Hannibal. His face remained perfectly blank as he stared at her. "Please. For me." She pleaded.

Hannibal put the knife in his pocket and stood on the other side of Marcus. Marcus' arms were shaking, he looked panicked but thankful as Clarice and Hannibal wrapped their arms around him and pulled up.

As to be expected, Marcus screamed in agony as they yanked him upwards. Something that was sticking to him the spears came loose, but he was still impaled. Clarice's grip slacked and she was sweating under his weight, she grunted as she tried lifting him up.

"I can't get a good grip- he's heavy." Clarice grunted, blowing air through her lungs to encourage more strength.

"Here-" Hannibal grunted. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife. Clarice gasped as Hannibal jammed the pocketknife in Marcus' stomach. The knife ripped him across his belly rather than cut him, the blade was dull and a vein in Hannibal's head bulged as he dragged it across the mud-caked flesh.

Marcus screamed as Hannibal's free hand dug into him, pulling out the intestines, dumping them in the pit below.

"Alright, on three." Hannibal replied putting the knife back in his pocket. "One, two…"

Marcus was slipping through Clarice's fingers, still alive and sobbing, then gargling, and passing out. She wasn't sure if he was dead, but he hadn't screamed when the smattering of sticks found new places on his body to pierce.

Clarice tore her eyes away from Marcus, her body shaking.

Hannibal Lecter was staring at her, his pocketknife still in his pocket. His lips were slightly parted, and he didn't break the silence by speaking or moving.

"You killed him." Clarice choked. "After I begged you not to."

He looked at the pit before settling his gaze on her once more. His eyes were the only thing that moved.

"Why?" Clarice asked; she was vaguely aware she was crying from shock.

"He was sent to kill us." He said gently.

"You don't know that!" She shouted, balling her fists.

"Look once more in the punji trap. Tell me what you see." He instructed her. His voice was soft, like he was speaking to a timid child.

She didn't want to see Marcus' body again, and she didn't want to look away from Hannibal. She shook her head, taking a step backwards.

"Clarice," He said to her, his teeth showing now. "Clarice, there is another trap in back of you, do not take another step. Come forward."

She slowly walked forward towards the trap that held Marcus' body.

"How many did you make?" She scowled.

"A few." He replied.

"Is this why you wouldn't give me shoes? So I wouldn't walk here?"

"Yes."

"How did you know I wouldn't find them and wander over here anyway?"

"I hoped you would be smart enough to do what I say…and trust me." Hannibal replied. "Trust." He said again.

"Do you love me?"

"I told you I do." He replied. Her nostrils flared with emotion. "Yes Clarice, I love you." He reassured her.

"But you'd risk my life?" Clarice said. "You wouldn't tell me about these traps. What if I ran again?"

"I trust you." He replied. "I knew you were safe."

"I asked you not to kill him." Clarice replied.

"Clarice…" he said solemnly. "He was going to die. We both know that. And it would have been a slower, more painful death."

"If you loved me, you wouldn't have killed him." Clarice replied.

He smirked, his gaze settling in the pit.

"I wonder if you be so horrified if he was just another junkie, gang-banger on the street, threatening to murder us. You probably wouldn't hesitate to shoot someone like him, under those circumstances. His intent to kill us is the same as the people you've had to kill in the line of duty." He turned to her. "Clarice, your gun is in the trap. If you ask me to, I will reach in and get it for you. You can shoot me in the heart and I'll die. I won't fight you...although I'd much prefer to live. There's so much we haven't done together."

"Give me my gun." She said.

He slowly got on his stomach and reached a hand into the pit, and pulled out the gun. As he straightened up he held it out for her to take.

Clarice took it from him and pointed it at his head.

"Hands up." She ordered him.

"Clarice-"

"I want the knife too." She interrupted him.

He took it out of his pocket and dropped it on the ground, then kicked it towards her. He held up his hands.

"This insanity ends right now." Clarice said, holding her gun steady on him. "No more playing house, no more secrets, no more games, no more murder-traps. Do you understand?"

"Yes Agent Starling, I understand." He replied. "I think you should duck."

"What?" She snapped.

"Duck."

Clarice felt something slam against her skull. Her gun fell from her hand when she tried to stop herself from smacking the ground.

* * *

**Authors Note: So, I thought it was time to bring in some major drama and I hope I delivered.**

**For those of you who haven't read the books, the whole "Mischa" thing might be confusing. (I did not make-up Mischa). I apologize if that was out of left field for some of you. You can reference to Thomas Harris' **_**Hannibal **_**or **_**Hannibal Rising**_** if you want to be filled in. Or just watch Hannibal Rising the movie.**

**Aw, how sweet that Hannibal admits his love for Clarice as he…um…disembowels their would-be assassin.**

**And I just want to thank all of you who have been reading and reviewing. I am speechless as I check my story stats and see the numbers climb higher and higher, it means a lot to me. Thank you! **


	7. Chapter 7

Clarice was awakened by sharp pains all over. Her stomach clenched and she thought she would vomit, her body, being faster than her mind, reacted quickly by rolling over and she dry-wrenched on the ground beside her.

After the unpleasant sensation of nausea finally calmed, she rolled on her back. She felt weak and shaky, thirsty and hungry, but worst of all she felt confused. Waking up not knowing where you are or if you are injured is a jarring experience, and Clarice felt she succumbed to that too much for her liking.

She wasn't sure if getting hit on the head caused her a lot of damage, but she knew two things- one, that she had been knocked out for a substantial amount of time, because it was dark and she wasn't in the woods; and two, that she was somewhat chilled for the first time in a long time. She recognized that her arms were scratched up and her head was pounding. Her clothes were even slightly damp.

As she ran her hands over her arms she found dry blood and dirt crusted on her.

"God damn it, I just did the laundry." She groaned, knowing her clothes were probably just as bad. Hysteria gripped her and she started to giggle as she thought about how heavily the laundry had distressed her.

Her giggles turned into laughter, and something in the back of her mind pushed forward to remind her that her reaction was beyond inappropriate. She struggled to silence herself, trying to not feel so frightened at her bizarre impulse.

_It's okay, Clarice, you just need to calm yourself down. _

She took a few really deep breaths before slowly sitting up. She could tell her nerves were shot because her hands were shaking.

It wasn't completely pitched black; there was some source of light hidden from her view. She was able to look at her hand as she held it close to her face, and concentrated as her eyes adjusted.

She put down her hand and observed her surroundings.

"Are you kidding me?" She gasped, recognizing she was trapped in wall of smooth stone.

The light source was blocked from jutting rocks overhead, easily thirty feet up. She could see that if she attempted to climb out of the rock-cave-pit she'd risk substantial injury or death. The walls were too smooth and almost completely vertical, for a sick moment it reminded her of Jame Gumb's stone well.

The scratches on her arms and her bruised legs were starting to make sense now… someone had put her here, and they hadn't been very gentle.

A whistle erupted from the wind as it blew over the mouth of the cave, and a faint whisper of rushing water was constantly in her ears. As Clarice pushed herself off the ground she felt her right thigh especially sore. To balance herself she held a hand out and jumped in shock as she placed it on a person's body, and not on cold stone as she had expected. A hand had gently, yet firmly, grabbed her left wrist and clasped on her in what felt like a reverse handshake.

"Hello Clarice." Hannibal's voice spoke from the shadows.

He had been watching her the whole time, which was slightly embarrassing considering he had observed her go into a nervous fit. She chose not to dwell on it; instead she pulled all her strength into appearing calm. Their gaze met, and she saw his eyes were shining in the low light, they reflected like a wild animals. Everything else was a dark outline, like black on gray.

"What are you doing? Let go." She said trying not to sound too surprised at his sudden appearance.

"No."

His grip tightened when she tried to pull back.

"Are you insane?" She whispered. She recognized immediately it was a poor choice of words.

"Some would say." He replied slowly, the warning in his voice ringing clear.

She was shaking badly now, he had recently murdered a man, she was weakened by hunger and whatever else had happened to her, and she had just insulted him.

"How are you feeling Clarice?" She heard him ask clinically. His thumb was stroking her hand, every brush sending a wave of alarm up her spine.

God, what a nightmare.

"Not too good." She replied honestly. She had let her accent go thick by mistake, which it often did when she was in a heightened emotional state.

"It seems we're in a bit of a predicament, don't you agree?" He asked.

"So you didn't do this?" Clarice asked, pointing around to the cave with her free hand. She wasn't sure if he could see her gesture, but if anyone could it would be him.

"And what would I gain joining you in this pit?" He asked her.

She made an attempt to yank her hand away once more and his grip became painfully tight.

"I don't pretend to know how you think." She growled, ashamed of her pathetic attempt.

"Fair enough." He replied civilly.

"Is there any particular reason you refuse to let go of my hand?" Clarice asked.

"Yes."

"Are you going to tell me why?"

"No." He replied evenly.

"Could you please loosen your grip, Doctor, you're hurting me." She asked.

He didn't reply, but his grip slackened. She tested it slightly and his hand was still firmly clasped on her own.

"Is that, like, your hand now?" She asked. He still didn't reply, which caused her more frustration than she'd care to admit. He began to pull her to himself, Clarice hadn't expected it and stumbled forward, her other hand laying on his chest to catch her balance, which he captured the same way he had the first hand.

"God damn it." She cursed in his face. "Alright, that's enough- let go."

"No." He said softly.

"…You're freaking me out." She admitted. She wasn't sure that was a wise thing to tell him, but she was being honest and hoped it would halt his erratic behavior.

"My most sincere apologies." He replied. He had said it very politely, but he hadn't made any motion to release her.

"I'm going to knee you in the groin if you don't let go." She told him.

"That would be _very_ unwise."

"You leave me little choice."

"…I'm curious, tell me Clarice, were you a destructive child?" He asked her, completely changing the tone of their interaction. "Did you make it a habit to break your toys?"

Clarice flushed deeply and was thankful for the darkness. She wasn't sure if he was implying that his testicles were "her toys", but she was unable to stop the thought once she made the connection. She realized she had hesitated too long.

"I'm not playing games with you, let go." She said choosing to ignore his question. "Fun's over, stop or I'll make you."

"I gave you fair warning." He said calmly. "Keep that in mind if you foolishly decide to follow through with your threat."

"And I've asked you many, many times- nicely- now, get off." She snarled. He jerked her wrists sharply and she lost balance once more, falling into him. He was leaning against some sort of pillar, now holding her wrists behind his back.

She struggled to gain her footing as he held her. Their chests were now touching and she was pressed against him.

"Doctor-"

He growled and she felt his teeth nip her neck. She broke into a cold sweat and screamed. She was now trying to lean back, her footing unbalanced, and she gasped as she felt his teeth lightly biting a patch of skin. His teeth, after a few heart-stopping seconds, were replaced with his lips as he sucked on the sore spot he had made.

"A-are you giving me a hickey?" Clarice asked breathlessly. If she had any extra liquid in her system she was sure she would have pissed herself with fright. Thank god for small favors. "Why…?"

The place where he had bitten was throbbing with heat and wet from his mouth when he removed himself from her neck.

"Why? Because I don't appreciate being threatened with bodily harm any more than you do." He replied in a low rasp, his face very close to hers. "Consider this an exercise in empathy."

"Empathy? That's rich coming from you. You murdered a man-"

"-You mean I killed a murderous stranger." He interrupted her. "Is that how you see me? A mindless, violent animal without empathy, a monster that will attack and kill you on a whim?"

"No." Clarice replied truthfully.

"Then why are you so frightened?" He asked. She was shocked to hear true anger in his voice.

"…I'm scared of heights, Doctor, even when I'm standing on solid ground." She replied. He paused and considered her answer, and she was relieved that it seemed to be a good one as the tension melted between them. "Would you please let go of me? Please?"

His grip loosened and she was able to slip her hands out of his. She didn't want to look too upset or eager to get away from him as she stepped backward slowly.

"Thank you." She said, rubbing her hands.

He didn't respond, he only stood in front of her, a shadow in front of shadows, watching her.

"How long was I out?" She asked. She was desperate to move past their dreadful episode.

"Hours." He replied.

"What's happening, Doctor?" Clarice asked, trying to seem in control.

"Before I answer you, I'm going to ask you some questions because I'm concerned the blow to your head could have given you a concussion." Hannibal said. "If you can't see, feel my hand and tell me how many fingers I'm holding up."

"Huh, you mean that's a real medical thing?" Clarice asked. She really didn't want to touch him, but she wasn't sure how he'd react if he sensed he repulsed her.

"Now is not the time for jokes." He chided her.

Clarice grabbed his out-stretched hand and ran her palm over his figures.

"Two." She replied, dropping her hand to her side quickly.

"Good." He said. "Do you feel nauseous?"

"I was, but I think I'm okay. I'm starving." She admitted. "I feel weak."

"Dizzy?"

"A little."

"Confused?"

"Yes. I mean, about what happened, not in general." She clarified.

"Do you recall how many fingers I held up?"

"Two."

"Excellent."

"…Where are we?" She asked, taking a moment to recognize her surroundings.

The floor was stone and slick with moisture. Clarice had spent so much time feeling over-heated and hot that it was strange to feel chilled- though it was just as unpleasant.

"A cave." He replied.

"Yeah, I can see that."

"It's possible that we are in the opening of a where water flows in and carves out a passage downward into a cave cavern. It would be far too dangerous to explore. This is a very suitable prison."

"So we are stuck." Clarice said, her heart sinking. "How'd we end up here?"

"Eric found more recruits." Hannibal said. "A gentleman I don't recognize saw us disembowel Marcus, it was he who struck you on the head."

"Us? _We_ did not kill Marcus." Clarice raged.

"They saw what they wanted to see." He replied. "If you allowed me to keep the knife I probably could have kept the wolves at bay. I suspected that Marcus would not come alone."

Clarice rubbed her face, feeling tired.

"…Do you think they're going to kill us?" Clarice asked.

"Wouldn't you?" Hannibal replied.

"No." Clarice said turning to him, upset. "Of course not."

"…This is going to be difficult for you to hear, but they certainly sounded pleased with the suggestion of killing us." He said. "They expected me to eat or attack you. I believe they left us here to die."

"What- left us here? They're not coming back?" But- I don't think they'll kill me if I told them everything." Clarice said in shock.

"Everything? Including our fun little game?" He asked in his low, playful voice.

"I mean about Marcus." She replied, not rising to his bait. "I can tell them I had nothing to do with those death-pits or your killing him."

"Would you blow me a kiss if they took you away? Or would you be spit in my face to strengthen your story to renounce me as your partner?" He asked, with faux pleasantness. "Perhaps they'll give you back your gun and you can shoot me. Then they would have to trust you!"

"Stop it." She said, feeling sick. "I wouldn't do that."

"We are either in this together or we're not." He said, the mirth gone. "I warned you not to make a fool out of me."

"But I didn't kill Marcus, you did!" She replied angrily.

"And you believe groveling for your life to those dullardswill cause them to pardon you?" He scowled. "Cowards die many times before their deaths; but the valiant taste of death but once. For your sake and mine, don't defile your life's reputation with an undignified end."

"I don't want to die for your crimes." She seethed.

"It's too late for that. I was your best shot out-living this island- and your worst." He replied.

She hated how true his words were.

"So what now?" She asked him.

"We stay here to await our fate. It might be death and it might not; the future is always uncertain. …I have some skill in preparing others physiologically for situations such as these. I will give you what comfort I can, physically and mentally, if you request it." He replied.

She was certain he had just offered her sex, among other things.

"You don't have any bright ideas about getting us out of here?" Clarice asked.

"Do you hear the rushing water?" Hannibal asked her.

"Yes."

"Somewhere there is a passageway into the cavern below. However, we have an exit 10 yards above, whereas an exit below can be for miles. I don't think we'll survive it. Our best escape attempt will be up, not down." He informed her.

"So we should try to escape." Clarice

"You and I are dehydrated, weak from hunger, and amateur rock-climbers with no equipment." He replied. "It's unfortunate but our fate rests with outsiders and we are not in their favor. They might not even come back for us."

The reality of their situation suddenly crushed her. He was trying to tell her that their good luck had finally run out. Tears sprung to her eyes, and terrible thoughts flooded her; she realized that she had been holding onto hope, she was so sure that she'd be rescued even if it meant it would be years from now.

"I know fast and painless ways to end a life. If the burden is too great…" she heard Hannibal say softly to her. His eyes shined in the moonlight. "…you need only ask."

* * *

Clarice hadn't taken any offers Hannibal had suggested to her. She didn't want sex, psychological coaching, or to be part of an assisted suicide. He hadn't spoken to her through the night, nor had he touched her. She was thankful that he had given her space, both mentally and physically.

She spent most of the night looking at the sky and thinking about her life. She had regrets, but they were minimal, most of them involving her time there on the island. She regretted that Ardelia would probably never know what happened to her, and the pain she'd leave her.

It was very early morning when she fell asleep. She dreamed that she had climbed out of the pit, only to be thrown in over and over, until her hope had completely faded. She dreamed that her bones were intertwined with Hannibal Lecter's. She woke up crying, and saw Hannibal studying her, awaiting any instruction to take action.

She wiped the tears from her face.

"I want to ask you something…" She said. He didn't interrupt her but lifted his head slightly. "I know you told me not to ask again...but I'm hoping you'll give me some sort of pass…considering."

He blinked, which was odd for him.

"Who is Mischa?" She asked.

"…She was my beloved baby sister." He replied.

Clarice's imagination built a history around him and his sister. She didn't know why it felt so unlikely he had family, but to her it seemed surreal.

"Does it surprise you that I cared for her?" He asked. "You think I would use love to manipulate, that my display of emotion are all insincere, just another modus operandi of a psychopath, correct?"

"I don't know what you are, honestly."

"I'm a man." He replied. He turned to her, strangely without emotion. "There you have it, Clarice, the big secret. Unlike most human beings, I can love honestly."

She didn't know what to say.

"What did you dream about?" He asked her.

"Getting out of this cave, mostly." She replied. She sniffed. "I was unsuccessful."

"Have you given any thought to my offer of comfort?"

"Maybe later." She replied.

"Now we are sharing our last sentiments, I think it would be appropriate to inform you that I lied to you." Hannibal said. "When I told you that our brush with romantic love was forgotten, and that it never happened, I was lying. The truth is I cherish what little of you I had, and selfishly regret that I didn't have more."

Clarice rubbed her face with her hands. Trust Hannibal Lecter to make her love-life as complicated as possible, even in their last moments.

"Thanks." She replied.

She thought a breeze blew over the mouth of the cave, but it was mixed with another sound, and for a brief second her heart stopped.

"Did you hear that?" Clarice gasped.

The unmistakable sound repeated itself- it was a man was yelling something, but to Clarice it wasn't recognizable.

"It's a rescue team." Hannibal replied coolly. "I heard their helicopter this morning."

"Oh my God." Clarice gasped. "Please, I don't want to die here." Clarice said. She wasn't even angry with him for keeping the helicopter secret. "I know you don't want to go back, but I do."

He put two fingers in his mouth and blew. The whistle from his lips was surprisingly loud and cut through the air much better than her hoarse shouting. Clarice was amazed that she had to cover her ears. He blew three times, pausing for a second between each whistle, and starting again. She recognized it as morse code for SOS.

"Is someone down there?" A voice called.

"Yes! Agent Starling!" Clarice replied. "Hannibal Lecter is down here too!"

She saw, between the rocks, a man's face looking down on them.

"The cannibal?" He called, sounding alarmed. "Ma'am, are you in any immediate danger?"

Clarice saw Hannibal Lecter's face, completely blank, staring at her.

"No…I don't believe so." She replied.

"…Okay. Stay there!" Her rescuer called down to her.

She thought it was a stupid thing for him to say, until she realized his dumb comment was born of fear.

Hannibal Lecter stood as still as the rock around him. While they awaited rescue, he wouldn't speak or interact with her despite her efforts.

They were returning to the world, the one where he was a murderous cannibal and Clarice was Agent Starling, and there was no pact between them.

* * *

Clarice wasn't a fool. She knew she'd be lucky if she avoided prison, even though she didn't feel she had done anything criminal. There was no question she wouldn't remain an FBI agent, she was certainly out of a job.

But that wasn't why she was so nervous. She had to talk to Hannibal Lecter. She wondered if it was because she knew it would be her last chance to see him. She wasn't even sure what she'd say.

Before she had been suspended from the FBI, she had made some inquiries to find out where Hannibal Lecter was taken. All the survivors had been rushed to the Philadelphia Hospital except him.

Hannibal hadn't made it to Philly, he was being hidden away from all major cities and was on full lock-down in a medical facility in Northern Delaware. Once Clarice had been given notice she was released from the FBI's care, she made arrangements to spend a restless night in a hotel overlooking the Walt Whitman bridge. The modern construction was a reminder to her she wasn't living in an isolated nightmare.

Clarice had taken two showers that morning. The first was to get rid of the grime under her fingernails that she hadn't been able to scrub away; the second was to clear herself of the nervous sweat she couldn't rid herself from. She was suspended- and for very good reason. The story of plane crash survivors struggling to live on a dangerous island with a murderous cannibal had every journalist foaming at the mouth- and the FBI. No one quite knew how to handle her. People had died, and she was scheduled to be questioned in four days.

It was early morning when she had her things packed up to leave. The continental breakfast wasn't even open, but she still gave a polite wave to the man placing stale bagels in a plastic tin as she walked by. He must have been charmed by her manners because he brought her a fresh apple, which she accepted before she left.

Clarice hailed a taxi and ate the fruit during the long ride. Eating kept her preoccupied as her stomach twisted with anxiety.

What if he was angry with her? She didn't speak to him during the entire plane ride back into the States; she didn't even look at him. Would he consider that betrayal? She had been so overwhelmed by the sudden rush of modern reality, that coming back had left her confused and overloaded.

Everything felt intense, even the apple she ate tasted incredibly sweet. The plane crash had changed her life. The time she spent with Hannibal Lecter had also changed her, she realized there were situations he had manipulated, but he had also shown her great kindness and devotion.

Which is why she wasn't sure if he would begrudge her for returning to her normal life without him.

What was she going to say?

She thought she would come up with something- anything- during the taxi ride, but everything she came up with fell apart. If she apologized she wasn't even sure what it would be for.

She paid the taxi driver and stepped into the hospital. There was a lecture hall on the top floor where Hannibal was being held.

As she approached the hospital receptionist, the woman behind the desk shot her a long, shameless stare.

"Can I help you?" She asked, briefly looking to the community television.

Clarice observed a news station was playing an information piece on the crash. Her photo, along with all the other survivors, flashed the screen briefly as the newscaster repeated vague information in twenty different ways.

"I'm here to see Doctor Lecter." Clarice admitted.

"You and half of America I think." The woman replied. She looked pleased; there was no doubt that she was excited to talk to Clarice.

"Doctor Lecter approved a joint interview with the FBI." Clarice lied. "Are there reporters upstairs?"

"There are more reporters than doctors in this building, and some are posing as doctors too." The woman gossiped. "Miss Starling, I have to ask, how did that evil man not rip you to pieces?"

"I don't know." Clarice replied.

"Well…the elevator only goes to floor 29. You can take it but you'll have to go up the stairs to get to 30. You'll be stop by some officers." She lowered her voice slightly. "I wouldn't give them any trouble, they've had to deal with a lot of shenanigans already, you get me?"

Clarice nodded.

"Thank you for your help." Clarice said politely before departing. She located the elevator. When the doors opened a handsome young man slipped in and hit the "close door" button.

"Floor 29, am I right Mrs. Starling?" He said with a sly smile.

"Miss." Clarice corrected him. "Are you a reporter?"

"Hey, don't lump me in with all those other assholes." He laughed as he pushed the button. He must have been fresh to his reporting job, because he hadn't yet learned bad language was a poor substitute for charm.

"Yes or no?" She asked him.

"Yes but-"

"Wonderful." Clarice interrupted him. "I'm going to need your help seeing Doctor Lecter. Tell the officers we're scheduled for an official interview, that it was spur of the moment. The FBI has authorized it; if there's any trouble they can speak to Doctor Lecter's lawyer and you have him on speed-dial. Okay?"

He gawked at her and laughed when the elevator doors opened.

"Sure- yeah- whatever!" He agreed. "Um…we're not doing anything illegal are we?"

"No." Clarice lied.

* * *

With a little confidence and straight-talking, Clarice and her tag-along finally convinced the troopers with shotguns she had a legitimate purpose to there. It seemed to Clarice everyone was overly curious about her time on the island, and because she had largely kept it a mystery she found people will eager to let her talk.

She took a deep breath as she walked down the many steps towards a platform in which was built a familiar looking cage. It was the same cage she had seen Hannibal in the time she had asked for his help on the Jame Gumb case. He had rearranged the position of some of his belongings, but she saw he still had the small side-table and was reading.

"Good morning Clarice." He spoke clearly from behind his book.

"Hello Doctor." Clarice said stepping on the platform.

"I see you've brought a friend."

"My name is Joshua-" He starting holding out a hand and fiddling with it foolishly in the air as Hannibal lowered his book and glowered at him hungrily.

"Hello Joshua, Clarice and I are catching up." He said. "Would you please wait with officer Nolan until we're finished? Thank you."

Joshua looked between them, a panicked, disappointed frown.

"We'll do an interview." Clarice reassured him.

Joshua seemed conflicted, but thankfully was able to get the hint and stopped talking.

"So how many journalists have you had to turn away?" Clarice asked

"All but one." He said looking to Joshua, who was reluctantly retreating to the armed officer in the corner. Hannibal marked his place in his book and placed it on the side table. He turned his swivel-chair to face Clarice. "'Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall'."

He paused to allow Clarice to absorb the comment.

"You didn't sign-in under 'Agent Starling', did you?" He asked her, his voice raspy.

"I'm suspended…for now. I doubt they'll keep me." She replied. "They're going to do an investigation."

"And what will you tell them?" He asked, his eyes shining.

"I don't know. The truth sounds a little unbelievable," she dropped to a near-whisper, "I'm not really comfortable admitting I had some sort of treaty with you, Doctor. Especially since you murdered someone."

"In self-defense." He replied.

"That's not what everyone else is saying." Clarice replied icily.

Hannibal clicked his tongue.

"It's entirely believable I coerced you into being my accomplice." He said. She recognize he was giving her permission to further destroy his reputation. "Anything else?" He asked raising his eyebrows.

This was when the thinking in the long taxi ride would have paid off, if she could come up with a good reason to be here. She couldn't move herself to speak, and yet he patiently awaited an answer.

"I don't think I'll be able to see you again." She said.

"How does that make you feel?" He asked.

Once again, he got to the heart of the issue.

"A little sad." She replied honestly.

"'A little'?" He said licking his lips. He was swiveling slowly in his chair. "Did I make you happy, Clarice?"

She was taken aback by the odd question. She had spent most of their time at the island starving, worried, sunburned, and afraid, but she had never considered if the experience had brought her any positives.

He was still swiveling in his chair, but Clarice noticed he was studying her reaction with fierce intensity.

"You made me happy, sometimes." She replied.

"Which times were those?" He asked softly.

"When you were being…civil to me." She replied. She wanted to be honest, but it was difficult for her to admit some of the things that she had done. "When you took care of me… and when you shared your affections with me."

His blank, intense expression didn't falter.

"You have to go." He said. "The policeman is starting to understand this interview is not authorized."

Clarice's throat tightened.

"Goodbye Doctor." She said, swallowing thickly. She turned to leave.

"Before you leave, I have something for you." Hannibal called to her.

When she turned, she saw he had risen from his chair and was strolling casually to the side, obscuring the view the policemen and journalist. She tried to look casual as she walked towards him. Hannibal kneeled down, his head rested between the bars.

"If you'll allow it, I want to give you a kiss." He whispered to her.

Fear gripped her. He was a madman in a cage; she could hear Jack Crawford in her mind asking her if she was crazy to consider putting her lips on Hannibal the Cannibal. This was a clear test of trust. Clarice didn't want to think of what would happen if Hannibal turned savage.

That would be a really grotesque ending to their tale together, wouldn't it?

Her eyes darted to the officer and journalist. Her journalist might have been young and stupid, but he had some sort of charismatic power to keep the officer engaged.

"Clarice, this is _our_ moment." Hannibal said to her. Her eyes snapped back to him.

She thought about how she would feel on the taxi ride home if she didn't kiss him. It was disappointing how much it would affect her. Hannibal, perhaps sensing his victory, shifted towards her.

She silently pushed past the blockades that told her not to cross. She stood in front of him. If he wanted he could grab her, but he made no movement. She stepped close to him, her heart pounding.

He closed his eyes as she leaned in, and kissed him. It was a lengthy kiss, simple, yet deep. She got the impression he was reveling in it as he breathed in deeply, as if he could grab the moment with all his senses. It was with much regret that he parted, and Clarice couldn't forget the sound their lips made when the kiss was over.

"How touching it is to share that which makes saying goodbye difficult." He whispered to her.

She was backing away from him, the kiss still clear in her mind.

"Say the word Clarice, and I promise you this won't be our last farewell." Hannibal said.

The police officer was starting to walk towards them, looking agitated.

"Goodbye Doctor." She said. She hesitated. "Until next time."

He smiled at her and waved as she was being led away.

She knew one day she would regret those words.

* * *

**Authors Note: So…I feel like I got some 'splainin' to do. I really did want to keep writing chapters for this fic in a timely manner, but some of you have noticed it took a while.**

**Long story short, I fell off my motorcycle, scraped both my arms against the dirty pavement and suffered painful road-rash. Road-rash is more like a burn then the scrapes you suffered when falling off your bike, which I was ignorant of until I needed professional medical attention. **

**Anyway, I am back in the saddle. I did have a few more ideas of keeping them on the island, but truthfully I want to write about other things and with different plots. I hope the ending was too abrupt. I want to write other fan fiction for the Hannibal universe, but I have lots of impulses to make them off-the-wall strange plots. Getting lost on an island was one of my more tame experiments… Yes, I will write more Silence of the Lambs/Hannibal fan fictions.**

**I hate ending stories completely; I like to always keep some options open. As you can see…Hannibal has no intention of allowing Clarice to live a normal life without him.**

**So, In conclusion, thank you so much to all of you with your support. It's been a pleasure reading how much you enjoyed the concoctions of my odd fantasies. **


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